Archer of Black
by Cardinal Grief
Summary: To be trapped in time is dangerous business. Is time a linear path or is it a convoluted vortex? A young Magus finds himself in medieval Britain. Will Emiya Shirou fall or flourish?
1. It Begins

_Archer of Black_

_Chapter 1: It begins_

**(Spoilers)**

**This story began as a "What If?" fic. What if Kiritsugu trained him properly? What if he had magi-heritage? What if he received proper education as a magus? A lot of these questions popped up as I watched and read about Fate/Stay Night. There was so much potential about these questions that I had to write a story about it.**

**I can say that the Shirou in this story will be different than the one in canon, not only powers, but in other aspects as well. His magic crest will play a role as will the choices he makes early on. I want to make him into a different version of Counter Guardian EMIYA and at the same time turn him into an arch-enemy of said Counter Guardian. He won't be a hero or an ignorant third rate wannabe magus. He'll be a force to be reckoned with, but that won't happen for several chapters in the future. There's going to be a lot of building of the character called Emiya Shirou.**

**I'd also like to establish a few issues in timeline. So far they have been small issues, but I'd still like to sort them out before I get into the story too far. Fate/Stay Night takes place in 2004 and at that point Shirou is 16-17 years old. For convenience sake let us assume that he is 17 years old at that point. Ten years earlier he lost his memories in the Fuyuki fire. Two years after that he starts learning Magecraft. 3 years after that Kiritsugu dies from the curses from Angra Mainyu. 5 years after that the next grail war takes place.**

**So here's the timeline so far in canon:**

**1994, January Fifth (Fate/Zero). Fuyuki Fire occurred on January Fifth, the date that later became his birthday. Shirou is 6 years old.**

**1995, December Eleventh (Kiritsugu starts teaching Shirou Magecraft.) Shirou is 7 years old.**

**1996, January Fifth (a few weeks after Kiritsugu starts to teach him Magecraft, he realizes his mistake and starts to really teach him) Shirou is 8 years old.**

**1999 (Kiritsugu dies in canon) Shirou is 11 years old.**

**2004 (The fifth Holy Grail War) Shirou is 17 years old.**

**That's what I'm basing AOB on. If you'd like to correct it, please leave a review or PM me.**

**The main focus of the story won't be the Holy Grail War. Depending on how I let the story fold out I might not even include it. So Enjoy…**

* * *

His body was tired. Despite his relatively young age he felt like his bones had exceeded their physical limits decades ago. His muscles felt like they had been used without rest for years and were finally beginning to show their tears and wears. His mind, once sharp, possessed probably less than a fifth of its former deadliness. His vision was cloudy and he had to focus more than he wanted to just to read the news each day.

Was the curse from Angra Mainyu to blame or was it the monstrosity in his hands?

He focused his eyes once more. In his hands was a weapon capable of agony beyond human comprehension. It was a danger to any and all who near it, even its user if careless. He had seen it used time and time again, leaving victims in its wake. Tears of pain and sorrow usually followed soon after. Careers had been ruined, lives had been destroyed and traditions had been shamelessly broken as this abomination of a tool left its mark on the world. In a sense it was even worse than his Thompson Contender. At least he knew it was used for destroying lives. He doubted the owner of this piece of demonic equipment knew what she was doing to her unfortunate victims. How horrible the weapon in his hands was.

It was the terrifying Torashinai.

He had asked Fujimura Taiga, the granddaughter of his neighbor Fujimura Raiga, if he could borrow it to find out why it was cursed. He thought he would have to convince her or maybe even use hypnotism on her, but the moment he asked her she just gave it away with a smile. He was baffled. Normally owners of cursed objects tend to be possessive of said objects, but Taiga seemed happy to help him. Maybe the curse was only active in battle.

Despite the ease he had acquired it with it seemed his luck had run out. No matter what he did he couldn't make heads or tails of it. It was a phenomenon clearly out of his abilities and he was not in the best position to contact the magus association for assistance of any kind since the grail war and the Einzberns refused to talk to him even going so far as to activate the barriers around the property.

They wouldn't even let him see Illya, his own daughter.

"What are you doing with that, dad? I thought Fuji-nee took that thing with her when she left…" asked a voice from the door. It was Emiya Shirou, his son.

Shirou was the only person he had managed to save on that day 2 years ago. He had been so glad that he had found the small child amongst the flames and the dead that he hadn't wasted a second implanting Avalon inside the small and severely burnt child.

During the immediate aftermath of the grail war he had been filled with despair. He had searched for someone to save in that sea of flames and every second he spent in the searing heat made his goal seem less and less likely to succeed. When he had finally seen the boy collapsed on the ground covered in burns and blood he had almost lost his will to live. He had been the reason that this innocent boy had died, along with hundreds of others. When he saw the nameless youth's chest rise and fall as if he was breathing, he had rushed to his side.

In the few short moments it took for him to confirm that, yes the child was indeed alive and breathing, he was like a machine. He had not dared hope. If he had hope then it meant that he could lose it as well. When he had realized that he might be able to save just this one child, he was filled with a religious fever. Tears streamed down his face and a smile erupted from his otherwise grief-filled features.

`He's alive! He's alive!' he remembered chanting, as if nothing else mattered. To him though, nothing else was nearly as important as reaffirming himself that he had been able to save at least one person.

He had never been able to gather the courage to reveal anything about the war to Shirou though. He had sealed away that part of his life for two years and he would hopefully be able to keep it sealed until his death.

"Ah, this? I asked the girl if I could borrow it to `practice my swordsmanship with'. Though now that you are here, you think could give your structural grasp a shot? It should be good practice for you." And it would be good training for him. The apprentice had a good number of circuits in him for a first generation magus and they were high quality as well. If his children followed the same pattern then he would need only a few generations to catch up to the magi at the Clock Tower in terms of a magic crest. Even less depending on whom he married…

He threw the aforementioned weapon of mass horror to the young boy and watched as he fumbled with the shinai. It wasn't that heavy, but the child's small size made it a little too big for him to use. Or maybe it was the curse making him a little clumsy?

He watched as Shirou muttered his aria ("Trace on") and looked at the cursed object. Normally when you look at a cursed object you would feel a small discomfort, like a small headache, but that was only if you possessed enough skill to go that far. For a child without any training to see enough to feel hurt would be impossible.

That's why he was surprised when he saw the magus-in-training wince in pain.

"Shirou? Are you hurt? How much did you see?" he asked in a worried tone.

"Uh, I haven't started yet. It just hurts when I create a circuit," the child responded.

Create a circuit? What was he talking about? Normally you activate your circuits and then focus on the object. There is no part where you create new circuits. If you tried to do that then…

…Shit

"Shirou, tell me. How do you normally use your magecraft?" If this was as bad as he expected then it was good that he just started training learning magecraft. If he had continued with this method then he might end up crippled or worse, dead.

"Well, first I imagine a new circuit and I imagine flooding it with magic and then it feels like burning pipe is shoved in my back. It used to hurt a lot when I started, but now it just hurts," Shirou said, not knowing the true meaning of what he just said.

Kiritsugu wanted to kick himself. How could he have missed so obvious? He already knew that Shirou's sense of pain and discomfort was warped. The kid's first memory is walking through a field of death and flames. There's no way he could have recovered from that without any consequences. To him the pain of converting one's nerves to magic circuits wouldn't even compare as important.

Still he needed to set things straight and do a damage control. He might look fine, but nerve damage could manifest later on. The earlier he knows to what extent the damage has spread the sooner he can try and find some kind of treatment for it.

"Listen Shirou, when you use Magecraft you don't create magic circuits. You use those you already have. What you're doing is basically cannibalizing your nerves and turning them into makeshift circuits. That's only possible once or twice before you have to see a doctor," he said, trying to instill a sense of urgency in the youth.

It worked to a certain extent.

"Cannibalizing? What does that mean?" the child asked.

Kiritsugu sighed. He forgot he was dealing with an eight year old.

"That's not important right now, but you need to know that what you're doing is dangerous. It looks like I'm going have to go through the basics with you."

Motioning for the boy to come to him, they both sat on the floor. The sliding screens were open and the cool autumn wind made their breaths turn into mist.

"Shirou, Magecraft is powered by out prana. Prana comes in two forms; Mana, which is the world's own supply, and Od, which is our own energy supply. We activate our circuits once in order to use them later in life. There is no safe way to create circuits and the way you were doing wouldn't actually create circuits since you just substitute your nerves for them," he explained to his apprentice. He really should have done this when he started teaching him.

"A magus walks with death. That's the sad truth. There are so many ways to be killed when you are a magus that your entire life can be summed up in that sentence. Your experiments may go out of control, your mystery may fail, you may overclock your magic circuits and gives yourself a stroke or a jealous magus might kill you for your research. If I had taken teaching you seriously this would have been made clear to you already, but you know what they say. It's better late than never."

"So what's going to happen to me now? Am I going to die?" For the first time in the conversation Shirou's voice gained a slight hint of fear. No wonder though, he had heard that he had been doing something extraordinarily dangerous. Any kid would be crying with fear at this point.

"No, you're not. I'm just going to use a little magic and see how much damage you've got so far and we'll see what happens," he said as he put a hand on Shirou's shoulder and applied some prana.

Avalon was resting inside him, the noble phantasm still in its pure gold and blue. His original circuits were there, still in good shape and high-quality and his nerves were all there, mostly. It seemed as if a few of them had changed into… real magic circuits?

That wasn't possible. It was inconceivable that his nerves had actually become real, functional (although low quality) magic circuits. No wait. They were still functional as nerves, but magic circuits had appeared inside them. And they weren't his circuits either. They felt as if they had no connection to his alignment or origin. But that would mean…

He had a root-damned magic crest!

Now he knew why he hadn't noticed it before. In the fire 2 years ago he had sustained damage to his circuits and for a long time had had trouble using them. It was like they were hidden by a veil which made his circuits slow and sluggish. Even now he couldn't use them to the same degree as he was once capable of. He couldn't make it past the Einzberns barrier because of this. Now that he thought about it, Shirou must have acquired the same problem, only his magic crest and circuits had been completely hidden and when he tried to use them crest was forced to manifest them inside his nerves.

"Magic crest? Shirou, this may be a stupid question, but do you think your parents were magi?"

The boy's eyes flashed open and he stared at him. "N-no, I don't think so. I don't remember anything so they might have been, but I don't know," he said. He suddenly started smiling and asked him with a hopeful look in his eyes. "Is there a chance they were? Could we find out?"

Kiritsugu didn't know what to do. Could it be possible that his adopted son was the heir to a family of magi? It might be possible. He had more than average amount of circuits and a crest, but he didn't think that any magus not connected to the grail war would stay in Fuyuki city with their heir during the war. It went against common sense. Any magus in Fuyuki City would be a possible target as nobody would want to take chances. And if you didn't have a servant to protect yourself odds were you would be killed. So why…?

The only choice was to inspect the crest in hopes of finding what sort of magus the previous owners were.

"There's a chance that it's possible, but I wouldn't jump to any conclusions." There was more than a chance. It was more than likely. "Shirou, when I used structural grasp I saw a magic crest. I didn't see how many circuits you have, but you forced a few of them to manifest as your own instead of staying in the crest. This is very important! Don't ever tell anyone about this!" he told Shirou.

He looked taken back at this. Kiritsugu was normally laid back, but now he looked serious, more so than he had ever seen him.

"What, why? Did I do something wrong? I won't use my nerve-thingies ever again-OW!" he answered back. In his rush he had fallen over his kimono and face-planted on the floor.

Kiritsugu lost most of the seriousness his face had a moment ago and had gained a smile. The cartoonish way he fell over drained the room of it former tension. "It's not that you did something wrong, but you did something no other person had ever managed before. I haven't explained it to you yet, but there's an organization out there called the Mage's Association. They focus on research and magical science. If they found out what you did, even if it didn't do that much for the average magus, they will hunt you down and experiment on you."

The look on Shirou's face told him what was going through the boy's mind. "Yeah, most of them aren't very nice."

He continued. "Anyway, before we make any speculations I will need to inspect your crest. Are you ready?" he asked as he once more put his hand on Shirou's shoulder.

What he found inside the crest was quite impressive in terms of amount of circuits: fifteen magic circuits were still inside the crest. Combine that with the ones Shirou extracted as his own and the total amount of circuits he received from his biological family were twenty-three. As a result he possessed fifty magic circuits.

Despite the seemingly impossibility, it wasn't the most surprising thing he had found. There were two other mysteries left.

Shirou's Origin and Alignment had been shifted to Sword. He knew for a fact that when he first met Shirou neither had been sword. He hadn't bothered to check the origin, but he knew Shirou's alignment not been sword. As a magus skilled in inspection and investigation, Kiritsugu had been sure of what he had found out that day. Shirou's alignment had been Fire, an element Kiritsugu also possessed. When he had found him the boy had a single element. Even if he had missed the Sword, he knew he had found Fire. He knew he couldn't have missed Shirou having an element except the one he shared with himself.

And yet now he had Sword for alignment instead of Fire. Was that possible? Kiritsugu had Dual Origins, but that was supposedly rare. He knew several people had dual alignments and he had met an Average One once, but to shift from an elemental alignment to an alignment out of the ordinary? And not doing it on purpose and not feeling any pain at the same time? No, there must have been an underlying reason for it.

He sighed. This was getting a little too much for him.

And finally his origin… if Shirou wouldn't be getting a sealing designation for manifesting magic circuits then he would surely receive a one-way ticket to Clock Tower for that. Sword was unheard as an element from what he knew, but to have it as his Origin too? It was rare, even rarer than an Average One. If Shirou intended to become a magus he would need to be able to deal with the pressure of keeping everything a secret and protect himself.

Well, his plans of letting Shirou live an ordinary life looked impossible now. Since there were magi in this town who lost their heirs there would most likely search for them in hopes of locating their workshops and research. If Shirou was found and carried the name Emiya then it was more than likely they would kill him on sight.

No, maybe torture him for information first and then use him as a research subject. Not that that was any better.

It looked like he had to take Shirou's Magecraft education a little more seriously. He would also have to brush up on his basics.

Even he had to admit he had forgotten half of the Beginner's Guide to All Things Magecraft.

**AOB**

It was Saturday and it was time for Shirou's lessons on Magecraft. They were inside Kiritsugu's workshop, the old shed with stone walls that Irisviel had used when recovering from the strain from being the Lesser Grail's vessel.

"So every person has an Origin and Alignment and the Origin define a major trait in a person. The alignment is usually an element or elements but that just most cases, not a rule? Some people are also born with dual origins?" Shirou summed up the lecture. They had been going over the basics, something Shirou had been severely lacking in.

He had already told Shirou his Origin and Element and that he wasn't allowed to tell anyone since they were unusual and Clock Tower would slap a seal designation on him before he could blink.

"That's right, but just because you don't have an affinity for a spell doesn't mean you can't use it. There are several ways to effectively use a spell you aren't suited for; for example, the use of magic crests. When a person has achieved a spell and he adds a circuit to the crest he may choose to add the spell for it. This way makes it possible to inherit a sorcery trait and other elements to a lesser degree. Since your inherited circuits from magi with of all four elements you will be able to use them far better than if you didn't. Of course this does not mean you will be able to use it with the same degree of skill as the predecessor, it just gives you a slight ability. If all you needed to manipulate the elements was to inherit a magic crest then The Magus Association wouldn't treasure Average Ones so much. Remember; an Average One will always be able to manipulate elements better than you and a magus with a fire alignment will always be able to manipulate fire better than you." He paused and considered what to say. "Other ways are to store the spell in a medium and then release it in battle, but that leaves you with limited space for reserves. This method is preferred when you practice Formalcraft and Alchemy since using an active spell could disrupt the delicate calculations you'll be making at the same time," he explained.

"Runes are a good alternative for those who are not capable of standard Magecraft. Runes originated from Scandinavian scripts and tablets and each hold a meaning and effect, but skilled practitioners can combine several runes into arrays capable of far more than their individual effects. Ansuz for example is used for flames and Sowilo is for fire. Using them alone creates fire and using for example two Ansuz creates a larger fire, but combining Ansuz with Sowilo creates a more intense flame which spreads a larger area. Adding a rune for wind would increase the effect, but fire is normally a violent element so you probably wouldn't want to let it go too out of control unless you're using scorched earth-tactics."

Contrary to popular belief, Kiritsugu was a capable teacher when he wanted to. Note the emphasis on the` when he wanted to'. When he first started teaching Shirou he didn't actually want him to learn Magecraft. He simply wanted him to get bored and give up and live a normal life. It's safe to say that didn't happen.

When he had been teaching Irisviel how to drive she had been so happy at driving her new car that he hadn't had the heart to tell her she had been awful. He didn't want to risk breaking her heart after the fiasco with the tea ceremony. That was something he had not wanted to repeat.

So when he finally decided to take his training seriously he found that he was actually quite the competent teacher. Maybe that's why Taiga kept coming over in order to learn english? Was he really that good?

"The Origins are also capable of being used. As you know my Origins are `To sever' and `To bind'. By using my bones as my bullets I can use them in order destroy my opponent's magic circuits. If you experiment then maybe you could find a way to combine your alignment and origin." He saw the wince escape from Shirou's mouth when he mentioned his ribs being turned into bullets. "Yeah, it hurts. A lot. But almost nothing in the world of Magecraft can stand up against it. But speaking of Origins and alignments, how are you doing in your new club?"

That had been one of the first steps after finding out that Shirou had sword as origin and element. If he was a sword then he should learn how to use one. When Taiga had heard about Shirou wanting to join a kendo or fencing club she had volunteered to introduce him to her club.

It sounded like a good plan at first only he didn't realize taiga would be practicing there as well. When she emerged in her training clothes and armour he suddenly realized he had given her Torashinai back just the other day. And now he would pay for his blunder.

After having several bruises treated and the coach gave her a proper scolding for going all-out on a junior member, he decided to join and learn how to use a real sword. Nevertheless, many of the members who had expected him to drop out and never return stared at him like he was mad.

"It's going great! I finally learned how to enter a match using the correct stance without falling over from the weight of the armour!" the youth replied with joy evident on his face. Apparently just making it to the start of the spar was a challenge to the small child. Not a bad achievement for such a short amount of time though, especially considering that the armour was made for people several years older than him.

Kiritsugu laughed. "Well isn't that great! Maybe in a few decades you might be able to land a strike on Taiga." he teased, though Taiga was famous for her skill and temperament. He wouldn't be surprised if it took Shirou that long to land a hit on her, if he was raised by a normal person that is. "But since we have had the lecture already, why don't you show me what you can do with Gradation Air."

He put a hammer on the table and sat back. "Try to project this as precise as possible."

One of the problems when it came to teaching Shirou Magecraft was his limited talent. His Origins and Alignment made it harder for him to use Magecraft in general. The Magic Crest he possessed allowed him to learn other spells, but not enough to excel in any branch of Magecraft except Projection.

He had after days of research found out where Shirou's `sword' affinity came from.

Avalon.

Since he had embedded Avalon in a child, the powerful Noble Phantasm had exerted its influence over the significantly smaller existence. Changing his origins and alignment had probably not been all. It might even have removed his magic rest if he hadn't found it time.

By making Shirou practice with small time spells using the crest, his connection to it would stabilize. The same would be said about his Sword-affinity. By practicing swordsmanship, even with wooden swords, he would be able to draw on the power of Sword.

That still left Shirou with a very limited repertoire of spells. One of the few he would be able to cast without problem was Gradation Air, or Projection. It was a good beginner's spell with little harm of overclocking his circuits as amateurs tended to do. Shirou was exceptionally proficient in the use of Structural Grasp despite his age and limited training.

Due to his limitations Shirou had apparently taken a habit of helping Raiga with his motorcycle. The old thing was an antique and almost nobody knew how to fix it anymore due to the development of the technology used in motorcycles. In fact, Kiritsugu wouldn't be surprised if the thing was primitive enough for some of the more conservative magi in Clock Tower to consider it a worthy piece of equipment.

So after Shirou's use of Structural Grasp, he knew exactly what the problem was after a little application of the otherwise considered useless magic. Replacing broken parts with new ones was a bit too advanced for him at the moment, but old man Raiga still insisted on paying him for it. Though to be honest, Raiga was probably saving more than Shirou was earning. If he wanted a professional to fix the bike, then he would have to send it to a specialist who would charge ten times more than what he paid Shirou. So it was a win-win situation.

"Okidoki, watch this!" he exclaimed in confident voice. He took a pose with his legs spread and hands to one side, like a superhero from some cartoon. "Trace on!"

Nothing happened.

"It looks like projection is still a bit too much for you. Which ones were you using? Your own circuits or your crest?" he asked.

Despite the fact that Shirou was skilled at structural Grasp and was capable of projecting knives and small swords, he was still a child and he would be surprised if he had managed to project anything other than a bladed weapon in a long time. Normally a child wouldn't be able to project anything with just a few weeks of practice. Despite the fact that Shirou started learning quite late for a magus, his projection was quite good actually when it came to blades. He had asked Shirou to project a kitchen knife, which he succeeded in doing, and he found out that there was little difference between the real thing and copy, an extraordinary feat for someone so young. Though there seemed to be little else he could project at this point, he was sure he would be able to use projection for more advanced weaponry. Maybe a bow would be a good substitute for a sniper rifle? The bow used arrows which had a bladed arrowhead and could be considered a blade. Maybe he could add a bladed edge on a gun and call it a sword?

"My crest, but even when I use my own circuits it's hard to project something that's not a sword or knife. Projecting swords is like walking, but projecting anything else is like running uphill," he said as his shoulders fell.

"Don't worry about it; you just need to practice a bit more. However remember…" he was interrupted by Shirou.

"…Never, ever use more prana than you circuits can handle and never, ever tell anyone what you are and who your father is. I know, dad. But why don't we ever meet any magicians normally? You're the only magus I know, but you said there are entire groups of them. Why can't we go to them for help?" asked the adopted Emiya.

"I told you a little of what I did before I found you, right? Well, all of it was true, but when I told you that I was a little disliked I might have tweaked the truth a little. I'm hated in some very powerful places and if I were to reveal you to them then people would target you in order to get revenge against me. Understand?"

Shirou nodded, but continued. "So why can't we just hide you? I don't look like you and I don't have your crest so people wouldn't think I'm related to you unless I they meet you. Can I go?" the child asked, childish curiosity and hope evident on his face.

Kiritsugu chuckled, something he found he did rather often after he started teaching Shirou. The boy's sense for heroism and adventure was reminding him of himself before his father… No, he was not going there. Too many bad memories.

"No Shirou, it's too dangerous. You're just a child and it would be suspicious if you went to Clock Tower alone without a guardian. I'm not sending you into a pit filled with hungry snakes like that."

The boy's face fell and it was clear he was disappointed.

Still it was a valid tactic and in a few years it might work. An eight year old would look to out of place, but a twelve or thirteen year old might be able to pass of as an eager magus-in-training or heir to a declining family. The second one would actually be true in two cases. The Emiya family was disgraced after Kiritsugu's father had started his research on dead apostles and Shirou's original family was most likely dead or had lost a large part of their crest if alive. A family of magi depended largely on the crest to show their pedigree and age. Another reason he wasn't liked in the Magus Association. He had done a fair deal of damage to a large number of nobles.

Now that he thought about it, letting Shirou go to a magical institute was the best option. Even though Kiritsugu was a good teacher, he was a specialized magus and he didn't have the material to teach Shirou enough about Magecraft beyond the foundation and Formalcraft, though if he used the books Irisviel brought with them about alchemy then he could teach him the basics, but that was it. Add the fact that they had already stumbled upon the problem of his limitations and add the fact that he had an unidentified magic crest then he would have to get some real instruction soon. Since he already had a magic crest which wasn't the Emiya's tragic excuse he wouldn't have as much suspicion on him even if he might reveal his name. Almost nobody in the association knew much about Asia. Telling people it was a common name wouldn't be too much of a lie.

Still, he wouldn't be able to send Shirou to the Magus Association for years to come. Formalcraft, runes, alchemy and projection would take quite some time for him to learn. There was simply no point in worrying about the distant future, even if it did look grim at the moment. All he could do was to arm his son to the best of his ability so for now he would drill the basics of Magecraft into the boy.

_April 1, 1996_

The gun was on the table, its black sheen giving the viewer a deadly glare as if asking him: `You think you've got the guts to use me? What's wrong, punk?! You gonna pick me up o' what?!' Contrary to what he might have thought when he first heard of the new subject he was going to be learning, he was now filled with dread.

Earlier that day Kiritsugu and Shirou were standing in the yard and Shirou was inspecting the younger Emiya's swordsmanship. He had an ability to instantly know where was the best place to grip the sword and the best place to guard and attack. It might have had something to do with his origin since so far it only worked with swords. They had tried to do the same with spears and though he had shown more knowledge about it than the average novice, it was nowhere near the same intuition as when he held a sword. It seemed his affinity applied for all bladed weapons, but was best suited for swords in the end.

While his talent for swords was impressive, he still had to work on his technique though. His speed and strength were sub-par and he had no idea on a proper stance aside from the one taught in kendo. This wouldn't be a problem if he relied only on a Japanese bokken, but a wooden sword wouldn't do on the battlefield. As such they had practiced with several kinds of blades, ranging from a Japanese katana to the Scottish claymore to the gladius, rapier, falchion and Viking sword. Each sword required a different formand technique, making Shirou rely on a varied stance.

When they were done Kiritsugu had commented on Shirou's reluctance to attack his opponent's openings. Shirou's response had been less than what he had hoped for.

"If I do that, then you might get hurt."

While his concern was appreciated, it was nonetheless frustrating.

Kiritsugu had then told Shirou that in order to survive on a fight against magi; you would have to use every single advantage to the maximum. Every opportunity must be utilized. A magus from a noble family might follow rules of honorable combat, but the enforcers and executioners most certainly wouldn't. If anyone find out about Shirou, both might come at him at the same time. Under those circumstances, holding back because of chivalry would get you killed.

Normally Shirou would say chivalry is important, but he also knew his father had experienced battle almost his entire life and knew far more about the subject than he did. So he listened to his father/teacher.

"The most important tools I had at my disposal were not mysteries, but modern firearms. That's why most considered me to be a heretic. You see, a gun can't store prana very well. Even if you tried the effect would be almost nonexistent. This has mostly to do with the materials and design. A pistol has many small parts made of metal. Most metals are capable of storing prana; many famous swords are made from enchanted steel or engraved with runes afterwards to make them enchanted. But most swords and lances are single large pieces of metal. A gun is made from many small, complex parts. So in order to make a gun function as a mystic code, every part would have to be engraved with runes or altered with alchemy. Even then the amount of prana the gun can store would be minimal since the bullets could detonate inside the weapon if the excess prana made contact and interacted with them." He paused and took a swig from the coffee he had in his hands.

After quenching his thirst, he continued. "So most of my weapons were not enchanted, except for some of my larger tools like my sniper rifle or assault rifle since they were made of pieces of steel large enough to hold an acceptable amount of Prana. Even then I wasn't able to do any major things to them. I carved runes into them so the rounds wouldn't get blown off course or the incendiary rounds wouldn't detonate before they hit the target." He stood up and walked across the yard. When he reached the shed which functioned as his workshop he opened it.

He and Shirou walked inside and Kiritsugu showed him a box. It was two meters in length and a meter in width. It was almost as high as Shirou so he didn't see everything inside it, but he saw what his father took out.

It was a gun, black with a slightly worn out barrel. It was too big for Shirou's hands, but it seemed to fit perfectly in the older man's hands.

"Shirou, I want you to use structural grasp on this gun and tell me what you find out." He put the gun on the table and walked over to the couch on the other side of the room, a grim expression was the only thing he showed to his son.

Shirou did as he was told and used his Magecraft on the deadly weapon.

"Trace on," he said, his magic circuits flaring up in response. "It is a Beretta 92SB. It was made in 1980 in Italy. It uses 9x19 Parabellum caliber rounds and it can hold fifteen rounds in a clip inserted in the grip. It has been assembled and disassembled over two-hundred times. The first time it was used was in 1983 when Emiya Kiritsugu used to shoot Emiya Norikata. Since then it has shot more than 800 hundred times…" He trailed off as he understood what he had just said. He looked at his father, the man he had just, without meaning to, accused of committing patricide.

His father saw his expression of shock and nodded, confirming his son's accusations. He held up his hand to stop the other when it looked like he was going to ask a question. He motioned to the worn-out sofa to his left, telling the child to sit before he continued.

"My father was a magus. In fact he was talented to the point that the Association put a sealing designation on him, despite the fact that our family was just four generations old. When he found out he was going to be sealed inside the Clock Tower for the rest of his life, he ran. He took my mother and they ran from the association. Somewhere along the line, I was born." He looked out the window, as if not sure where to continue. After a while he continued.

"From what my father told me, my mother was killed just moments after in an attempt to get to him. It didn't work and Norikata took me away from there and raised me on the road. When I was twelve, we settled on an island called Alimango Island and we lived there for about a year. I had a crush on a girl a few years older than me called Shirley. She was kind of like Taiga, only without a cursed weapon and with tanned skin." A shallow smile appeared on his father's lips. "She was also my father's assistant. From what he told me, Shirley had even more talent than I had and might even had a future in Clock Tower if she was allowed to follow the path of a magus."

He sighed and Shirou could see a slight tremble in his father's frame. "Life was great. I could play with my friends all day and then I could spend time Shirley and father. But then… then Shirley let her curiosity get the best of her. She drank one of my father's experimental concoctions in order to find out what it did, but she had no idea of what my father had been researching." He stopped, as the pain of reliving the events became too much for him. Tears were now visible in Kiritsugu's eyes and his lip was trembling. His shoulders were shaking and he covered his face with his hands, as if not seeing anything would make it go away. Even though Shirou couldn't see his face, he could hear his father, the strongest superman of all, start sobbing from all the repressed emotions.

"He was researching ways to become a dead apostle," he said after the long pause was over. "He said that it was impossible to find root with a mortal body and that he needed the longevity of a vampire. He couldn't afford to wait hundreds of years to regain his mind from the zombie-state they enter. He wanted to skip that phase altogether. So when Shirley drank the potion she was turned into a vampire and she infected the entire island. Soon after that the enforcers and executioners arrived. They started burning the town and killing the undead and they would have surely killed me too if I hadn't been saved by a woman called Natalia. She was a freelancer who would hunt down sealing designates and sell their magic crest. When she found out what happened and that there was a barrier around our house she allowed me to go and stop my father." A bitter smile appeared on his face. "Did you know that he hadn't even gone out to look for me? He only thought about his research and how Shirley had shown him the answer. He was going to bolt the second he could. He thought I was going to just listen to him after he had been responsible for killing the entire island. I… I didn't know what I was supposed to do when I found him, I hadn't thought that far, but I had expected him to say it was a lie. That he hadn't been responsible for the outbreak and that someone had framed him, but when he admitted it I lost it. I stabbed him with a knife and when he was bleeding out I shot him with a gun he kept in his study. The same gun that is on the table," he said as he stared at it. The expression that Kiritsugu showed that day was one Shirou would never forget. It was the look of someone who had been betrayed by the ones he loved and could never go back to who he was before. Like an irreversible change had occurred in him, breaking him…. Distorting him. It was the same look he had the first days after the fire.

Maybe they were more like each other than both were willing to admit.

"The reason I'm telling you this is because I want you to remember that as long as there are people alive, there will be those who might betray you. Chivalry relies on the principle of everyone trusting in eachother to uphold their honour. But those who don't care about honour will always win since they can cheat, lie, kill and betray all they want. The gun you just saw is proof of that. The association betrayed fathe… Norikata who in turn betrayed Alimango Island. I just used that gun to betray my father in order to end the chain of betrayal, but that doesn't mean I am not guilty of the sin of treachery." It was just pouring out from him, every word felt like the ocean that had been on his shoulders disappeared and he could breath. He would have continued to tell his son about his actions if he hadn't been hugged by the aforementioned son.

"It's okay, dad. It's not your fault. You did what you had to do and I don't blame. But I won't be betrayed nor will I betray anyone. You don't have to worry about me," he said. He said all those things a nine year old shouldn't say, but he said it with such a smile that Kiritsugu couldn't help but to believe him.

The strangest thing of all: he wanted to believe him.

"Thanks. I needed to get that of my chest for a while." He sniffed. "Where did you hear those words though? I've never heard of child talk like that, not even the heirs of nobles would be able to talk like that at your age," he asked his adopted son. Thinking about it, it did sound a little creepy.

"I heard the rangers say it last Sunday, when they fought The Evil Chimera-lord Girugamesshu," he answered back with honest-to-root smile on his face, as if the fact that it came from a show meant for kids didn't change the value of the statement.

Kiritsugu's face went through several stages. First shock, then wonder and finally joy as he let out a loud laugh. His laughter was enough to echo in the building and the crows, who had taken the roof as their nest, took flight in order to get away from the possible predator that they considered Kiritsugu.

Shirou looked at his father in puzzlement, not understanding enough to realize why his father was laughing. To him, the words of heroes like his father and the Rangers of Justice (Shirou thought it was a fantastic name) might as well be as basic to understand as basic rights. It was LAW. He tilted his head to the side, an action he often did when not knowing what happened, in confusion. That along with the look in his eyes gave Kiritsugu the impression of a puppy.

The thought gave another fit of laughter.

AOB

After that Kiritsugu had told him to keep the gun. He wouldn't be able to use it since his very existence clashed with it, but it was still an advanced piece of equipment. Understanding the mechanics behind it would enable him to understand advanced physics better… or something along those lines. Shirou had not understood what Kiritsugu had said, but he figured using structural analysis would help him in the long run. As a result, he was sitting and was using structural grasp on it, letting the Magecraft analyze it to its fundamentals. From the metal used in its construction to the gunpowder in the in the Parabellum rounds, all of it was being downloaded. He was seeing the very essence of it and its history.

He saw how his father had been given the gun in order to practice maintenance and marksmanship. He saw his father disassemble it time and time and time again, only to assemble it time and time and time again. It was a tiring effort, trying to learn the blueprints of it. When it came to swords all he had to do was look at it and he would learn it without effort. But when it came to guns it was different.

Guns and Swords were incompatible for the most part. It was only under a short period of time that they existed together before humans discarded the bladed weapon in favour of the ranged. Swords were made for close-range combat, when the enemy was less than two meters from you. They were honourable, glorious and proud. Most sword masters followed the way of knights or kings. Very few wielders of swords were known to be cowards.

Guns, on the other hand, were made for long-range and had little honour attached to their names. It was a supreme murdering tool and was capable of more destruction than any tool a singular person could wield. They were not like an archer with a bow and arrow. Archers could still follow a code of honour and several could be knighted. It took years of training to learn how to wield a bow properly, while a gun only took a fraction of that time. No, guns were not like swords or bows.

And yet in Shirou's mind he was slowly accepting this pistol as more than a simple tool of death. It carried more than simple thirst for blood. This gun had been used for justice when it killed Emiya Norikata. It had been used for peace when it killed the sealing designates threatening innocent lives. It had been used for protection when killing dead apostles who had been terrorizing innocent towns for pleasure. It had been used for killing, but it had been used for saving even more.

Yes, Shirou could definitely see this as a worthy weapon for a hero.

He reached for the firearm, almost flinching when he felt the cold metal touch his skin. He held it in his right hand and used his left hand to slide the clip out. He put the clip down and started to pick the gun apart, like his father did before him. For every part, he separated he saw how his father showed his ideals, how he followed the Path of the Magus Killer.

He might never be able to wield it, but he was still capable of respecting its history.

It was indeed a worthy weapon.

**AOB**

_May 3, 1996 Fuyuki City_

The sun was bathing Fuyuki city in its scorching rays. The large sphere of gas in the sky was unhindered by bad weather as there was not a single cloud in sight no matter where you looked. In every direction the sky was as blue as blue could be. In fact it was the warmest day in over twenty years, a fact Shirou was horrified to find out. Why would he be horrified to know it was a hot day? Most people would like this kind of weather. Sunlight provided vitamin D which made people active and gave them a more active personality during the time the sun was up.

Most people, on the other hand, didn't have to deal with Fujimura Taiga.

Emiya Shirou and Fujimura Taiga were in the dojo practicing swordsmanship, just like Shirou and Kiritsugu had been doing almost every day for the last three months. He had progressed to the point of being able to last five minutes in an open spar against Taiga if they removed the armour. His reflexes and speed along with his affinity for Sword were good enough for him to fight on even ground with the more experienced fighter. Of course this only applied in an open spar. The armour used in real kendo spars was too heavy for him to use without being turned into a big bruise called Shirou.

Thanks to the intense training with Taiga however, his sword-projection had gotten better. In fact his skill took leaps if she used the Torashinai. Though he didn't want her to use it if he wasn't wearing the armour.

_Block, push, stab, defend, counter, slash._

His strength didn't have the same effect like someone who weighed more than twice his weight, but he was able to make her take a step back. This allowed him to extend his shinai in a straight path towards her gut, but the older fighter parried the blow while using her momentum to deliver a fast strike towards his chest. He was just barely able to retract his sword in time to guide Taiga's shinai away from his body and then strike her chest with an upward strike, which failed, and then bring his shinai down again. It was blocked once again and the older girl's shinai descended down onto his shoulder.

A whistle blew, signifying the end of the spar. They both looked the side to Kiritsugu who had blown the whistle.

"Match over. Winner: Taiga!" he declared. He wore his grey yukata unlike the two combatants. In his left hand was a paper fan which he was using to cool himself with, a logical solution given the temperature.

Shirou stumbled into the wind from the fan, panting and sweating. The shirt and shorts he was wearing were drenched in sweat, proof of the amount of time they had spent in the sun. The moment he reached the cool shade under the roof he collapsed in a heap. His muscles were aching; the results of having to endure a training regimen no nine year old should go through. His limbs were trembling to the point that even his toes were twitching. He was so relieved to be in the shade that he was actively rubbing his cheek against the cold, polished wood floor and then seeking a new cold place after his current spot had been warmed by the temperature of his body.

If Kiritsugu didn't feel sorry for the boy he would have laughed at the sight of the boy slowly crawling across the floor with an almost delirious expression.

Actually he did laugh a little.

Taiga on the other hand, looked like she had just a walk at a brisk pace. Her forehead was starting to show signs of sweat, but it wasn't dripping down her face like on Shirou. She had gained a tan from being in the sun and she had her hair in a shirt ponytail. She almost looked exactly like Shirley did twenty years ago, before the vampirification. She had a grinning from ear to ear, as if she hadn't been hit with a shinai. She walked over to the wall while humming a tune Kiritsugu was sure he had heard before.

"What's got you such a good mood? It's not often you come over here to spar," he asked the female kendoka. "You usually practice with your teammates."

"Well, I was going to practice in the club, but when they heard how hot it was they decided to make it an early holiday. And it's such nice weather today so you just want to do something with your friends. So I thought, as a good senior, I should make sure Shirou practices, instead of lying around like he always does," she said sweetly. Both of them ignored the groan coming from the floor next to them.

Looking back at the boy he answered: "You sure that it's not because you get hyperactive when the sun is out?" Poor boy, he and Shirou had just finished their own training, which involved sparring and exercising, so the kid was probably not going to be of much use any time soon.

"What are you talking about, Kiritsugu-san? Everyone gets like this on sunny days. It's common knowledge. Besides it's not like he's hurt or anything. We both used foam covers on our shinais."

Indeed, over the wooden shinai was a large piece of blue foam covering the `blade' of the practice sword. They wouldn't use real bokken in a duel between unarmoured opponents, but this made sure that even if the hit there wouldn't be broken bones or concussions. It would still bruise and make you wince if it hit though.

"Yes, but as he is now, he won't be able to make food, you know," he pointed out with a bit of teasing in his voice.

That certainly got her attention. She ran over to Shirou and started shaking him. Cries of `Shirou! Shirou, are you okay?' filled the air. It was at times like this that he was able to remind himself that Taiga was not Shirley. Shirley had been fun, yes but not hyperactive. Shirley was more mellowed, not as prone to comical outbursts. It was a good contrast.

One that brought back memories of her death.

"Taiga, maybe he'll feel better if you'll get him some water. He's been sweating a lot so he'll be thirsty enough to drink straight from the river if you don't hurry. Then we'll have a Shirou with indigestion who can't cook at all." She took his advice with enthusiasm. She ran to the kitchen, knocking over a dresser in the process.

"She wouldn't be so glad to use this place as practice if you didn't spoil her so much," said Shirou from his place at the floor. He was looking at his father with a slight glare.

"She would still come over here to get rid of her excess energy on sunny day, no matter what I say. You know what she's like when the sun is out, she turns into a juggernaut even berserker would hesitate to face," he joked. He was almost sure she was part alien. The superman comics said kryptonians derived their strength from the sun. Could Taiga be a descendant of Type Krypton?

"Berserker doesn't have to fight her for hours in the sun so he can't complain. Why am I always the one to spar with her? You're the Magus Killer, right? You should be able to take a few bruises instead of me next time," Shirou grumbled. He had apparently recovered enough to sit up by now, as he was slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. Whether this was the result from the countless hours he had spent training or from the noble phantasm inside of him Kiritsugu couldn't tell, but he knew that it would have been impossible for an ordinary human to bounce back so quickly for an ordinary human. It would have required inhuman conditioning, something the training under a magus killer included.

"I'm retired remember? I don't have the energy to keep up with you youngsters. My role is to tell you to train and then pit you against a superior opponent you're not supposed to win against. If you lose then I tell you to train harder, if you win then I tell you I knew you could do it even if I didn't." He gave his apprentice/son a smile filled with mischief. "Speaking of which…" He coughed and started speaking in a voice you'd hear an old man use. "You need more training, Grasshopper." He said. "But now that you can hold your ground against the normal Taiga, I think it's time for you to try your hand against Taiga with Torashinai." He laughed at the youth's face filled with despair.

"No, you can't! I'm having a hard time against normal Taiga without Magecraft. How am I supposed to handle Toraiga?!" The reply came, this time using the second nickname the boy had for his senior. Toraiga; the personality which came out when Taiga wielded Torashinai.

"Don't worry; I won't make you do that. Not when I still need you to be able to continue with our project," he answered with apologetic smile. Really he had not been able to tease someone like this since he had Illya. Shirou was not like his elder sister at all, but they tended to respond the same way to his teasing.

"You mean, I can finally learn how to use mystic codes?" Shirou asked hopefully.

"Only when you show me you can use your swords good enough. It wouldn't do if you finished it only to not know how use it," he told him, his smile fading away as he settled into his teaching persona.

"But dad, please can I start learning know! I promise I won't end like last time," he assured his dad, trying not to think about the previous incident when he had tried to project a sword beyond his limits.

"Only when you know how to use them. I'm not budging on this. You still can't beat Taiga with a shinai, what do you think is going to happen when you use a mystic code with abilities you have never used? First thing to using a code is being able to wield the item without Magecraft, " he said.

Shirou looked irritated at being reminded if his loss. "That's not my fault, you know," he grumbled. "Fuji-nee is faster and stronger than me. How am I supposed to beat her?" he asked.

Kiritsugu sighed. "You know, that not actually true." At his son's flabbergasted look he continued. "If we're talking strength then you're both equally strong. Taiga only has the advantage of size and weight, but you're physically just as strong as she is. And when it comes to speed, I would say you're actually a tiny bit faster. Despite this, why do you think you lost?"

Shirou started to answer, but nothing came out. He thought, but when he realized he didn't know he looked to his father. "I don't know, why?"

"There are two reasons. The first is skill. Taiga is better at using a sword because she is accustomed to it. Unlike you, she doesn't use more energy than she has to and makes no unnecessary movements. She is simply more used to handling a sword. You on the other hand, are quicker, but you put all your energy in your strikes and when you miss or get blocked that energy is wasted. So she will outlast you by nine times out of ten," he explained.

"The second is experience. When you attack you make it obvious where you will strike. You have a `tell' so to speak. This can be the bending of knees, twisting of hips or simply looking at the place you'll strike. Taiga has enough experience to see through you attack and counter it. You in particular possess many openings. I have made you lose many of them without you knowing during our spars since it's easier to lose something you don't know you have. The tells you still have are your shuffling of your left leg to forward and that fact that you like to attack your opponents left side. These are very basic tells, but they are very hard to get rid of." He stopped when he thought of something. "By the way, when you shuffle your left leg forward, Taiga tends to strike your shoulders," he added before Taiga returned with a water bottle.

"Okay, here's the water. Shirou, you still have enough energy to cook, right? Right?" she asked in a pleading voice. She almost had tears in her eyes. No, she did have tears in her eyes.

"Of course I do, Fuji-nee. If I didn't, who would make dinner? Need I remind you of what happened last time you or dad cooked? The fire department had to show up because the neighbors thought the yakuza had burned our house down." He didn't need to say that Taiga was technically part of yakuza and she had caused a fire when she left the oatmeal to boil for too long. They had to replace a large part of the kitchen that day.

"Yeah you're right. Haha, I knew you wouldn't get beaten by something so little," She laughed. She let out a small sigh of relief when she realized she wouldn't lose a chance to eat another one of Shirou's meals.

"Something little? We've been practicing for hours now! How come you never bother anyone else in the club this much?" Shirou asked, a frown appearing on his sweat covered face.

"None of them have a dojo in their homes and none of them can cook for me after a workout?" the elder child answered weakly.

Shirou sighed, knowing it was a uphill struggle to make sense of what Taiga said. He drank a few mouthfuls of water before looking back at the center of the dojo.

`_Taiga tends to strike your shoulders'_ that's what Kiritsugu had said.

"Hey, Fuji-nee!"

"Yeah?"

"Want to spar one more time?"

**AOB**

"I'd like to make a toast, for my son on his first victory!" Kiritsugu raised his glass of whiskey above his head, the other occupants at the table doing the same.

With the exception of Shirou, who started to make himself as small as possible in embarrassment, and Taiga, who grumbled about something that sounded like "So what if I lost? I lose all the time to Kiritsugu-san!"

They were eating dinner and taiga had asked if she could invite her family. Shirou had said yes, with his father's approval, as he would be the one to cook. They had not anticipated on Taiga's definition of family would be her Grandfather and his ten most loyal yakuza henchmen, or elderly care-assistants as he called them. Though Shirou doubted anyone would ever believe the second description, if the scars, suits and sunglasses were any indication.

Though they didn't look top intimidating right now, stuffing their faces with hamburgers and drinking soda like a bunch of children. It was almost enough for Shirou to let out a laugh, though he didn't as even he knew that laughing at a yakuza was enough to get people killed. There were a lot of people with scars and on their faces which meant they probably lived through more conflicts than the average man in their lifetimes. Though technically he was a child so he could ask some questions about how they got their scars. Scars were always a good way to get a conversation going.

As Kiritsugu sat down after the toast Shirou started talking to the yakuza to his left. It was a man with shaven head which showed his giant scar that stretched from his eyebrow to the top of his head.

"So where did you get that scar over your eye?" he asked innocently.

The thug in a suit almost choked on his food and reached for his glass to flush it down. After taking a few gulps of air, he looked down at the kid and glared. Most of the conversations around them had stopped and the occupants were looking at what might soon develop into a hostile situation.

The thug looked at Raiga, the leader of yakuza and Taiga's grandfather. There was a moment of silence as a silent conversation was held between them. At Raiga's nod, the yakuza looked back at Shirou.

"It's considered polite to introduce yourself before asking something like that, kid," he said.

Shirou blinked, but then he gave an innocent smile.

"Oh, sorry about that. My name's Shirou, Emiya Shirou," He introduced himself.

The thug nodded. "Name's Yoshida, kid. And an' why you interested in mah scar, an'way? It's not sumthin' you ask like tat'," Yoshida said in a slight growl.

"`Cause scars are interesting. They show what you've been through and what kind of life you've had. So where did you get it?" he asked one more, curiosity evident on his face.

The yakuza had never had this kind of experience though. Normally people would glance at him and whisper to eachother, silently judging him for his appearance. It was a startling experience for the thug.

He started explaining: "Well, I was doin' my job one day when I received word from the boss. T'ere was a large shipment of… Uh, well of…" He paused; trying to think of a good excuse that didn't entail the kid knowing of the illegal activities his friend's family was involved with. "FLOUR, t'at's right. A large shipment of flour was arrivin' so I was suppose' to make sure it was delivered. So I was at the checkpoint, when a rival yaku… I mean, a rival bakery showed and started ta argue ova' who's flour it was. Then one o' ta bakers hit me with a… what do ya call 'em? Rollin' pin? Only the one side was broken so one of ta handles was sharp. Tat's how I got the scar, kid." He finished, feeling proud of his quick thinking.

"I didn't think you worked as a baker. I thought you were yakuza." Was Shirou honest reply.

The dinner guests all burst into laughter at the look of shock in Yoshida's face. He had gone through the trouble of making up a story so the kid wouldn't know what they did, only for the kid to know exactly what they had been doing from the start. He grumbled to himself in embarrassment, before he turned to Shirou.

"So kid, you interested in scars, right? You got any stories of your own?" Yoshida asked. Most of the people around just took it as a joke, a way to introduce the boy to the family of yakuza. And there's nothing like an introduction through intimidation. Nobody noticed how Kiritsugu and Raiga froze as if they had wanted to avoid this particular topic.

"Yeah, I've got a few. Though the story isn't half as interesting as yours," Shirou said, still wearing the innocent smile of a nine year old.

"Come one, tell us already! We won't laugh, no matter how boring it is," They thought it was like a scar on the knee or elbow. The kind any child would have. But if any of them had paid attention they would have noticed that by now Kiritsugu was trying to motion Shirou to stop, waving his fingers in front of his throat as he desperately pleaded for Shirou to notice. Shirou didn't.

"Well, the first thing I remember is fire. It's everywhere, no matter where you looked. There were people burning and screaming, running as they were trying to put out the flames. I saw families who had been crushed and children who tried to wake their parents. I also remember an opera house and how the fire kept flowing from there. I started walking from the fire, but it managed to catch up to me wherever I went. It would burn me if I slowed down, but if I started running the flames would grow larger around until I stopped. So I walked and walked and walked. When I couldn't move I stopped caring about moving. When it hurt I stopped caring about pain. When I saw a fire-fighter collapse I stopped hoping for rescue. When I saw a mother hold her child I stopped caring about life. So I decided to just lie down. There wasn't anything left, but a sea of flames and a mountain of fire. It was when I gave up that I didn't feel anything at all anymore. There wasn't anything exciting about living, I thought. It was just the same. I had been a living corpse from when the fire started so it wouldn't change if the fire started burning me ashes. As long as I didn't care anymore," he said.

The whole room had gone quiet. Unlike before, when he had asked Yoshida about his scar, this silence was filled with shock. Before they had been watching with cautious eyes, ready to act on a moment's notice.

This silence was horrifying. Nobody moved, as if the person to move first would find themselves in the nightmare the child had just described. Their eyes kept glancing between the kid and eachother, not knowing what they should do in the current situation. They had all realized what he had been telling them of. The Fuyuki fire, the fire which claimed over five hundred lives and demolished every single building around. The fire had started at the opera house, so the kid would have been at the center of it. How he survived was a mystery to all present, but two.

"But then Dad found me and brought me to the hospital. After the burns healed, he adopted me and we got this house. Now I can play with dad and Taiga all day!" he said, as if the pain was worth the time he had with his current makeshift family.

The yakuza stared at him, not believing their ears. If an adult had said that then they would have thought he was insane. But the kid had managed to say it in such a way that it made sense. The sky was blue, water was wet, chocolate was tasty and the kid walking through a field of death was worth it in order to become neighbors with yakuza.

"Well Shirou, thank you for telling us. There won't be any more questions about scars for the rest of the evening, will there?" asked Raiga over the table. It was a question, but everyone except for Shirou could tell that it was a statement. The case was closed.

Yoshida laughed. "Yeah, sure." He clapped the boy on the back. "You's not bad kid. You's creepy, but definitely not bad," he let out a loud barking laugh as the child tilted his head to the side in confusion, looking more like a puppy than a child. When the other guests saw what he was laughing at they also burst into laughter.

Shirou on the other hand, didn't realize what was so funny, or why Yoshida thought he was creepy. He chalked it up to the weird stuff adults did, like laughing when a girl in the club gave him chocolates on valentine last year, or giggling when she kissed him on the cheek.

He also didn't notice Taiga blushing and giggling when she saw him doing his best in imitating a puppy.

**AOB**

_May 4, 1996_

Kiritsugu and Shirou were in the workshop. Kiritsugu was in teacher-mode and was standing next to an old blackboard and holding a piece of chalk. He was writing on the board while talking at the same time, forcing Shirou to split his attention between the board and his teacher. It was the same pace all the lessons had been during the last month so the youth had little trouble catching everything Kiritsugu said.

"So Shirou," Kiritsugu said. "Name the three branches you've have been studying for." He told his son.

"Projection, also known as Gradation Air, Reinforcement and Alteration," Shirou answered, thankful for the brief pause in the lecture.

"And the properties of each branch?" Kiritsugu continued, not wasting a second of the lesson.

"Gradation air is the act of replicating an object, using your prana as the payment. Due to Gaia sensing the object is an abnormality it starts to reject the object. It gradually decays and is destroyed by the will of the planet. Alteration is giving an already existing object a property it didn't have before. Like water resistance to objects capable of absorbing water. Unlike projection, the world does not see the object as an abnormality and the object will retain the property until destruction of said object's definition. Reinforcement enhances the objects natural properties, like speed, sharpness or durability. Using alteration and reinforcement together is difficult, but with enough practice it is possible to create a different object than the original," Shirou recited, not thinking about what he said while writing down from the board.

Kiritsugu nodded. "Good, but what happens if you apply projection, alteration and reinforcement at the same time?

"That depends on the skill of the user. If the magus is skilled enough to succeed he will create an object, add a property and reinforce said property at the same time, creating a different object straight from his prana. This would have less presence than a simple projection, lessening the deterioration Gaia would impose on it, but due to the skill required and what little use magi have for projections, no magus would waste the prana for it," h e answered offhandedly. At the same time he was writing down what Kiritsugu had written earlier.

"You forgot that the prana required is less than if you would do all three spells on separate objects. Since the projection is made from your own prana the total amount is less than what the individual spells require." Kiritsugu explained. "It seems that you have a good grasp on the basics for now. I believe it's time to begin on your next project. Do you think you are ready to make your first mystic code?"

"Does that mean I can create a new sword? Like a fire blade or a lightning sword?"

"Who said your first mystic code will be a sword? I've got something else planned for you." Kiritsugu smiled, knowing the reaction shirou would have. He walked over to the garage door. During the renovation, Kiritsugu had decided to add a garage to the storehouse. It was a large square room which held several large objects hidden by dusty covers. He entered the garage and removed one of them.

When Shirou saw what was under the dusty covers his jaw fell.

"Dad, is that a…?"

"Yup."

"And I'm supposed to…?"

"Yup."

"But won't I need education in…?"

"Nope."

"So that is my first mystic…?"

"Yup."

"Dad… You're awesome!"

Kiritsugu smiled.

"Yup."

Shirou started walking to his future Mystic Code, but paused when he realized: He had no idea what to do with it. When he turned his attention to his father to ask for advice he saw the books in his father's hands.

Using structural grasp to see what the books were about, he smiled when he knew what they were meant for and what the titles were.

Runes, Engravings and Alchemy: How you create a Mystic Code.

In all the time Kiritsugu had known his adopted son, he had never seen him read something so eagerly. Nor had he seen anyone get so excited about receiving a broken stove and oven as research project.

He decided to just leave it to Shirou being Shirou.

**AOB**

_June 13, 1996_

Kiritsugu was watching Shirou trace his swords. They were training his speed in tracing. There had been a significant improvement since the start. What previously took five seconds to trace, now took little more than 2.

Though despite the improvement it was still a rather boring task, even if he thought Shirou's use of Tracing was quite impressive. While Shirou seemed to be able to read the history of a sword just by looking at it, it was when he traced it that it was showing the fruits of his labor.

The reason he thought it was boring was simply because that was what it was: boring. Kiritsugu was used to being on long, tiresome missions involving stakeouts that turned out to be completely useless so he had the discipline to hold back his yawn, but there was no denying that watching Shirou trace the same blade time after time after damnable time again was not getting any more interesting.

He remembered how Shirou had managed to make a breakthrough on his projections. Kiritsugu had honestly felt like kicking himself. He had been so focused on getting Shirou strong enough that by the time he died, Shirou would be capable enough to take on the enforcers, but as a result he had neglected the basics again. He had assumed that Shirou knew enough projection and had decided to focus on Shirou's physical skill with the swords before starting with reinforcement, but as it turned out, Shirou had not mastered projection enough it seemed. Or it was not projection he had mastered would probably be closer to the truth.

When a magus used projection, they followed a preordained order of commands. The first command was `Visualizing the structure´. This was followed with `copying the material´. The last command was `projecting the finished product´. These were the three basic steps that all magi follow when using projection, without exception.

So why was it that Shirou had been getting gradually better results when not using the three commands? Simple, he had created other commands from scratch. Instead of three steps to an incomplete copy, Shirou used seven commands to a complete replica.

However, even the description complete replica cannot be a suitable description. He replicated the entire history of the object, even the abilities. That was not something a simple projection was capable of doing.

It had made him dizzy, trying to wrap his mind about the fact that his adopted son, a child who had been practicing Magecraft, real Magecraft, for less than six months had basically created an entirely new branch of magic.

When Shirou had traced his five-hundredth sword he stopped. He was covered in sweat from the heat produced from his circuits, but since he was tracing a nameless short sword less than a month old without any magical properties, the prana consumption was practically nonexistent. The only effects were the aforementioned heat and a slight headache which Avalon was capable of removing.

Shirou turned to his father. "I've traced it over five-hundred times now, dad. Can I please start learning reinforcement now?" he asked.

That had been the condition for the next step. Reinforcement was normally looked down upon by the majority of magi, but when someone of Kiritsugu's caliber used reinforcement then it was a deadly weapon. The only problem was knowing how to use it and how much to use. Using too much prana would result in crippling the user. Likewise, to reinforce only certain parts of ones physique and neglect the rest would harm the rest of the body. For example, if someone reinforced his arm muscles, but forgot to reinforce the bones in his arm he would break his arm into several sharp fragments which would start cutting into his muscles. There several other ways to harm oneself with this Magecraft, but that was the one most often used as an example.

The other reasons he had waited until now to teach him was his body's own physical form. Reinforcement could only enhance one's body to a certain degree based on the basic status on the body itself. If the body was on a scale from one to ten, with one being overweight and ten being Olympic medalist, then a one could become a ten with reinforcement. A ten on the other hand could, theoretically, become a hundred. Shirou would have needed more muscles on his body to utilize his Magecraft since more muscles gave more room for prana, thus increasing the overall limit.

"All right, let's start then." He motioned for the sword-magus to come closer. He picked up a box from his desk and set it in front of Shirou. He opened the box, revealing it to be filled with pencils. Several yellow, round, wooden pencils with an eraser on the top had been sharpened and were lying in the box on top of eachother. He picked one up and threw it to Shirou, who caught it on reflex without looking away from the box with confusion on his face.

"Inside this box is over a hundred pencils. You are not allowed to use reinforcement on yourself until you've managed to reinforce the pencils without breaking them. Just managing one is not enough. Until you can manage at least twenty perfectly reinforced pencils in a row, you are not leaving this stage, understand?" he asked. Shirou nodded and he continued with his explanation.

"Reinforcement is when pour prana into an object. This object can be anything, but certain materials are better at storing and conducting prana than others. By pouring prana into it you strengthen the imperfections and flaws of said object, but add too much and it will break due to overload of prana. That's why you need a balance for how much you use. Most magi see the flaws as cracks which need to be filled. This helps for visualization for the amount, but you also need to know how to strengthen it, like how many flaws each object has and how large each flaw is. The best way to do this is by using structural grasp on it. You don't get a very accurate reading on it, but it gives you an estimate. The last thing you need to know is how a reinforced object affects a mundane object. Like your bones for example. How do you think a reinforced arm is going to affect a mundane shoulder? The arm will tear itself from the shoulder within seconds." He continued for several minutes before showing Shirou by reinforcing a pencil which he later tried to break, and failed to do." He paused and adapted a thoughtful look. He then continued with whatever had made him stop.

"One of the tricks to becoming skilled at reinforcement is being able to pour more prana into an object without breaking it. This sounds ridiculously obvious, but in practice it's not. Most magi simply pour enough prana to fill seventy or eighty percent of the flaws or cracks, but with enough practice a magus can fill up to ninety. Train even more and it's possible to reach ninety-nine percent. When you've reached this level you will start seeing cracks inside the cracks which can be filled. This can go on and on, but a vast majority only goes for the bare minimum. Only those who focus on combat really use advanced reinforcement."

"Now, your lesson will be to try and reinforce all of these pencils without breaking any of them. You have three hours to before Taiga arrives and wants dinner, which gives you approximately two and a half hour before you have to start cooking for her. If you need anything or have any questions, just ask." With that he turned around and started to assemble his guns again as he heard Shirou pick a pencil from the box.

A few seconds after that he heard a crack and a wince. It looked like it was not going to be a very exciting day after all. He might have to stock up on pencils when he went out next time though…

**AOB**

_June 22, 1996_

Despite his earlier assumptions, Shirou had managed to master reinforcement quite quickly. Nine days ago he had cracked every pencil he tried, but now he had cleared the stage of wooden pencils and had mastered other objects as well. He was looking at the other projects right now.

In front of him were several boxes, similar to the ones with wooden pencils, but they had different contents. One was filled with mechanical pencils. These were similar to their wooden counterparts, but were made with plastic (A material known for its low prana conductivity and thus easily breakable) and were made up of several parts, increasing the difficulty by several levels. Shirou had managed to reinforce them to an unbelievable degree despite his inexperience. He doubted he could break any of them without reinforcing himself.

The second was filled with metal tent pegs. They were thin pieces of metal which had no magical properties whatsoever. The only reason he bought them was because he didn't want Shirou to jump from pencils to other projects too fast. They were made of steel, which had a high level of prana conductivity, but steel was hard to reinforce for a beginner due to the focus required. Once more, it had barely taken a day for him to reinforce them all except for the first ten that showed hairline cracks here and there before he was able to adjust his input.

The last box was larger, due to the contents, and he had high hopes for Shirou if he could reinforce what was inside.

So far Shirou had managed to reinforce the pencils and metal pegs, but the last box was his current subject of experimentation. Seeing Shirou successfully build a miniature version of the Eiffel tower using the pegs and pencils, he decided it was time to increase the difficulty. Though when he saw the tower he thought Shirou might possess a talent for design. He could bend the pegs with little difficulty and despite the fact that Shirou had never seen the real Eiffel tower, the model he was building looked almost like an exact copy.

"Shirou, come here," he said. Shirou added the last peg, the one supposed to represent the broadcast antennae, then stood up and walked over to Kiritsugu. Kiritsugu took the last box and opened it up, revealing its contents. Inside were not pencils, pegs or anything of that sort. Instead several arrows filled the inside of the metal container. The arrows were made of wood with steel tips and synthetic feathers. The tips were the broadhead-variant and made of steel. The arrowhead itself was hollow as the three edges met at the point. The moment Shirou saw them he knew that they weren't practice arrows, these were made for killing. The large arrowhead was unsuited for target practice as they would damage the target too much, but if the target was a human… A normal human wouldn't be getting up if they were hit with one of these.

"These will be the last test before you attempt human reinforcement. As you already know from personal experience, attempting magic beyond your grasp will hurt or kill you. That's why I made these arrows to reinforce. They are made with several metals that have high conductivity, but have magical properties. Each have runes on them to increase durability and sharpness, but this will be the first time you attempt magic on a mystic code so take your time before you reinforce them. Use structural grasp as much as you can before attempting to do anything. You don't have an accurate grasp on tracing mystic codes so I don't expect you to do anything anytime soon." His tone was like metal, sharp and cold. Or maybe not cold, emotionless would probably a better choice of words. Up until now he had worn the mask of a teacher, but during his lecture he had slipped into the role of the Magus Killer. Efficiency to the outmost limit.

Shirou flinched. He had seen his father wear that same expression in their spars countless times. Every time he made a mistake that would have killed him in real combat Kiritsugu would lose all emotions in order to correct that mistake. Usually by leaving bruises the size of his hand.

"So I'm supposed to grasp it until I get the most accurate read on the cracks and the prana consumption, then reinforce the individual parts without canceling the properties they already have?" His tone was careful, still wary of his father's voice and the deadly purpose of the projectiles he was holding.

Kiritsugu didn't answer. He just put the box on the floor and started walking to the door. When he reached it, he opened it, but stopped before he left. He turned around and said:

"Shirou, this is your last chance. If anyone finds out about you and the fact that you are studying combat magic, they won't leave you alone. By now, you know the purpose of those arrows. They are not the ones you use in the archery club, comparing accuracy with your friends. They are deadly and are used for gruesome purposes. Take this final step and you've passed the point of no return. After this, you're studying to become the next Magus Killer, do you understand?"

Shirou nodded.

Kiritsugu sighed.

"Then if you want to study under me, talk to me when those arrows are capable of piercing steel. If you don't want to study more, just leave them in this room and we won't ever speak of this again." With that he left the storehouse, leaving his son with a choice that would determine his future.

**AOB**

_Several hours later…_

Kiritsugu was sipping on his scotch, thinking about what Shirou would do. He was sure that Shirou would continue, but he had actually been hoping Shirou would say no, to be happy with his current life, going to school and having fun with friends. It was what Kiritsugu had wanted him to do ever since he found him. But despite whatever he said, the boy would still hold onto his belief of being a superhero. And if he needed Magecraft to be one, he would hold onto that chance no matter what hardships he went through.

In a way, Shirou resembled himself when he was younger. Not their appearance or mannerisms, but by their single-mindedness. Kiritsugu had been trapped in his hope of saving the world, just like Shirou is trapped in his dream of heroes. It had taken Kiritsugu almost causing an apocalypse to wake him from his bindings and even now he is hoping that there might be a way to save the world from suffering and war.

Would Shirou suffer the same way he did? Would Shirou be stuck in his cycle of death of a few for the lives of the many? How could Kiritsugu prepare him for that? Could he even prepare him for a life of assassinations and backstabbing? These questions plagued Kiritsugu as he time and time again though about the advantages and disadvantages of letting Shirou learn Magecraft. Every time he thought about Shirou clashing with the Einzberns, he wanted to increase Shirou's training just so he would have a slightly higher chance at winning, but what would the cost be? Shirou was already spending most of his time training, anymore and what little social life the boy had with his classmates and Taiga would be replaced with spars and lectures. What kind of life was that? Kiritsugu had lived that life with Natalia, moving from place to place in order to train for the next target. He would not let Shirou live that way.

But despite his wishes of letting Shirou live an ordinary life, he could not let his adopted son go, if only so his real daughter could be saved. Kiritsugu had lost his ability to destroy bounded fields long ago and as a result, Illya was still inside the barrier of the Einzbern family. He could not save her, not with his slowly weakening body and magic circuits. But Shirou could. Shirou could infiltrate the barrier and rescue Illya. Shirou could stop them from turning her into a political tool for their own benefit. She possessed the DNA of the Emiya family and when Kiritsugu died she could be used to demand the magic crest from the association. It might not be the type of Magecraft the Einzberns specialize in, but a magus would never miss a chance like that. She would become more of a puppet than her mother had beento them. He could not leave her in that place, not when Iri had died thinking that he would take care of her like a father would, like he would have had the plan worked.

No, as much as he despised himself for doing it, he would have to turn Shirou into the next Magus Killer, only better. Shirou wouldn't hunt apostles, sealing designates or terrorists for the sake of world peace. Shirou would save as many people as he could, yes, but Shirou would save those closest to him first.

…And who was closer to you than your family? Even if you have never met them before?

He gulped down the last of his drink, the alcohol burning as it flowed down his throat. At the same time, the door opened and Shirou entered. The appearance of his son set his earlier thoughts on alert. Had Shirou given up? Had all of Kiritsugu's plans been for nothing and would Illya spend the rest of her miserable life inside the Einzbern barrier? Did Shirou not want to be a magus, and therefore not the Magus killer?

Kiritsugu did not know whether to be filled with dread or hope as he waited for Shirou to speak. To give any indication of what he wanted to do. If he wanted to stay as a normal kid in Fuyuki city with a few scars or if he wanted to become one of the most feared magi in the world. Shirou's face gave no indication of what he had chosen either. Those were not the eyes of someone who had succeeded at a difficult task after hours of work. Nor were they the eyes of someone who was ashamed of failing a task others had hoped would he would accomplish. He was serious, not like when you out your mind to something, but not unlike it either. He looked… resigned? He had accepted something and was prepared for the consequences now, whether it was a reward or punishment. It was not the expression an eight year old should have, no matter what he had to do.

His expression tightened when he saw Shirou trace something in his hand. It was an arrow, just like the ones in the shed. His structural grasp told him that this was not a reinforced arrow, but it still possessed magical qualities. Interesting, but he did not understand what the point was. While tracing mystic codes was an impressive feat, Kiritsugu already knew that particular fact. There was no point in showing it to him, if it wasn't reinforced or…

"Trace on!" The arrow was pumped with prana to the point that Kiritsugu thought it would break from overload, but it didn't. The projectile that had been nothing, but a piece of wood and some metal had been reinforced until he doubted anything other than a mystic code could destroy it.

Kiritsugu held his hands out and took the arrow. This could definitely pierce metal, even steel might be ripped into with the right firing mechanism. He glanced up at Shirou. The resigned look was gone and had been replaced with a smile, a true smile.

Kiritsugu spoke. "Does this mean you accept becoming my pupil? Not as a magus, but as the Magus Killer?" He gestured to the deadly arrow in his hands.

"Yup." Shirou said. "Teach me everything you know! Though with you getting old and senile there might not be that much left, old man." He laughed. After a few seconds Kiritsugu joined him.

"Haha, perhaps, but I know enough to beat you to the ground with the Torashinai next time we spar." Shirou's paling face would be remembered for the rest of his life.

**AOB**

_June 27, 1996_

Shirou had known this would happen. He had known that something like this would happen. He should have expected something like this to happen.

In front of him were several books, all about a single subject: Archery.

To explain what he meant when he thought that he should have expected it, we have to go back to before Kiritsugu had decided to teach the ways of the Magus Killer. They had decided to test the limits of Shirou's tracing by replicating as many weapons as possible. Swords, lances, shields, spears, knives, axes and maces had all been replicated almost perfectly, especially swords. It was when they came to more modern weaponry that they encountered a problem.

Shirou couldn't use guns.

He couldn't use them. Whatsoever, at all, end of story. He could hold them and pull the trigger, but his very being made it impossible to aim and shoot. The feeling of trying to aim a gun was like trying to focus on your own blind spot while drunk. Even holding it and pulling the trigger was difficult for him. All he could do was fire it in the general direction of the target and hope he didn't hit an innocent person.

It was the same for all modern firearms. Handguns, carbines, assault rifles, sniper rifles and shotguns, they were all pretty much useless even if he used structural grasp until his head pounded from overexertion. So far he had managed to use two guns (the Beretta his father had shown him and a shotgun) in total and both of them had been used by his father who had poured plenty of time and effort into the firearms and even then his aim had been horrible and his handling horrendous at best. The only reason he could use them was probably because they were closely tied to his father, the man who raised him.

Of course this brought forth questions that needed to be answered. Why couldn't he use normal guns? Any normal human being could use one, it was one of the reasons why it was almost impossible to become a heroic spirit these days so why couldn't Shirou? The answer had come from Kiritsugu who had likened it to the problem he had with fixing machinery. Kiritsugu couldn't, due to his origin, handle delicate machinery like a car or a motorcycle. Sure he could drive them, but he couldn't fix them or upgrade them personally. His origin made it impossible due to its cut and bind-methods. As soon as he had said that they both realized it. Shirou's origin was sword, the antithesis to gun. For a sword to wield a pistol or a weapon similar to it, would the same as wolf being hunted by the rabbit or the eagle being devoured by the mouse; inconceivable and utterly ridiculous. The fact that Shirou had managed to utilize two modern firearms was a smaller miracle, but considering the fact that both were made for medium range and one had little power in the rounds while the other had limited ammunition might have had something to do with it. There had been duels under similar circumstances when flintlock pistols had just been introduced that actually had honour in them so that made his two exceptions slightly more understandable though no less useless.

But this still left a large hole in Shirou's arsenal. How would Shirou take down an enemy several hundred meters away from him if his opponent could outrun him? A handgun had limited range even if he could turn it into a mystic code, something which was practically impossible and wasteful to the point of idiocy considering the lack of any real potential, and that was if he could actually aim with them. Larger rifles might make it possible, but Shirou could not use them beyond bashing his opponents head in with them. In the end, both of them had been slightly disappointed in the results at the end of day. Shirou had wanted to emulate his father in his use of weaponry, but his very soul had made it impossible.

Kiritsugu had spent most of the time he had available to think of a way to overcome this gap in weaponry when Shirou had mentioned offhand that he had joined the archery club in school since Taiga had been in charge of the kendo club. This had apparently reminded him of the time when he had discovered Shirou's Origin and Element. How he had thought a bow would fit Shirou better than a sword since they are fired from a distance, something Kiritsugu preferred over close-combat any day.

That might have been one of the reason his last test had been reinforcing arrows. Firing normal arrows with a mystic code would have been less effective than using an ordinary sniper so arrows with mystical properties would bridge that gap, with the reinforcement just being the tip of the iceberg.

While Shirou was glad he had a weapon meant for long-distance fighting now, it also meant he had to learn how to use it effectively. While Japanese archery, also known as Kyudo, was well-established across japan and it did help his form and accuracy, most of it was based on Zen meditation and didn't have very much in combat training. Add the fact that the traditional Japanese bow used in clubs was the Yumi, a bow over two meters tall, and the training received from the Kyudo club didn't seem as helpful as it used to. That meant he had to improvise in order to overcome that weakness. Hence the books Kiritsugu had given him to read instead of sparring as they usually did on their weekends. The book he had picked up first had the title "The English longbow: Origins, creation and uses." It described the first time the western bow had been recorded and how to make one. In Shirou's opinion, the English bow suited his size better than the Japanese bow. While he had more experience with the yumi, he also knew he could not use one correctly in a combat situation. The shorter Hankyu might work for him, but he had no idea on how to make one and it didn't give him the `punch´ his dad wanted.

His thoughts drifted back to his lessons. A mystic code was said to be more powerful if the user had created it himself. It was a theory that had drifted down the centuries from when heroes used their weapons with pride and told everyone how they were made. Some heroes had been gifted with their weapons, making the point slightly mute, but several legends told of how weapons forged by the hero's own hands were powerful enough to smite armies. And while the stories would be nothing but just stories alone, there were several proofs that supported it. One was the "growth ring"-method. It stated that doing something over and over again would eventually add up to something more than just the added amount. In other words, a simple act, performed several times, had mystical effects. That's one of the reasons why such a theory was still being considered and it was one of the reasons Shirou did not simply go out and buy a compound or composite bow.

Unlike Kiritsugu, Shirou possessed pride in his work. When his father was working, he would lose all emotions and fall into a robotic routine. Shirou on the other hand, took pride in his cooking, martial arts, designing and repair work. He felt a joy helping people and seeing their gratitude on their faces. It was that pride that stopped him from taking the easy way out and buying his new mystic code. His first code had already been built and he had just repaired and modified it. This would be a project on a whole other scale and dimension. He would have to craft a mystic code from scratch, using his tools to create the parts to begin with.

He would use all he knew to do it.

…but he would have to know how to do it first. Realizing that, he opened the book and searched for the part that showed how to make a bow. Finding it, his eyes widened at the large text written with extremely small letters. It looked like it was going to take a while…

**AOB**

_August 25, 1996_

It was finally time! Despite the pile of books he had to read and the practice required, the wait was finally over. It was time for him to build his own bow.

He had read the documents and books Kiritsugu had bought over on his request. They were about the legendary weapons and how they were made. How the methods had strengthened the material and the symbolism they represented had enchanted the tools they forged. The magi who wrote them had all agreed that there was a mystical quality to a code a magus had spent a large amount of effort and time in crafting, like the saying of blood, sweat and tears.

Unfortunately Kiritsugu had not seen it that way. For Kiritsugu, a tool was a tool. No matter how efficient or effective, a tool for murder could never elevate itself above that level. Even humans could be tools for furthering a man's goals. Therefore he could not understand how a weapon could be more than a simple object. He could never view his Thompson Contender more than a convenient weapon.

In fact, for the first time since Kiritsugu had adopted him they finally had an argument. Kiritsugu thought he was wasting his time trying to craft a bow that would be significantly weaker than a modern compound bow. Shirou had disagreed and actually stood up to his father, a first in his known lifetime. Shirou thought the mystical properties of the weapon would overcome the technological advances while Kiritsugu argued that if the weapon even did acquire blessed or cursed properties its performance would still be weaker than a compound bow or even a composite bow since Shirou didn't know how to use horns or sinew in the bow. In the end, they had to compromise. Shirou would make his own bow as he wanted, but if it didn't carry any effects as he thought he would, they would buy a professional bow and he would reinforce it with runes. Shirou was less than happy at the insinuation that his own father doubted the skills Shirou had honed with tireless effort.

So he had created a plan to ensure that his bow would be a mystical code all on its own without runes. A weapon blessed by effort would be great, but he decided to take it to the next level.

That was why he was in the forest and looking for a yew tree. Why yew? The traditional English longbow was made out of either elm or yew, though they also used ash when yew became scarce in the fourteenth and the fifteenth century. But coming across the same trees as the ones used in England and northern Europe was almost impossible, unless you knew where to look.

Fuyuki city was divided into two smaller towns. The older part is called Miyama City and the new city is called Shinto. However, the older city is also separated into parts. When the immigrants from other countries settled in Fuyuki the majority gathered together in one part. That part is comprised of western-style houses and mansions, though the architectural design was not the only thing they brought across the waters. When they deforested the area they replaced the Japanese forests with European plants and trees. Apparently they had thought the flora was to Japanese for them, despite the fact that they used it to build their homes and warm their houses. For Shirou though, it worked to his advantage. A large part of the settlers were English and had brought elm and yew with them and the forest surrounding the western section was crawling with European trees. The only problem was finding one with the right requirements.

In order to craft a good bow, the wood would have to be without deformations. This included scars from weather and falling trees, branches, termite infestations and curves. This meant that despite the large quantity of yew, finding the right tree was becoming quite the task. Most of the trees he had found bore scars of wind and wildlife; he even saw a clearing which had been destroyed from something like a thunderstorm. His patience was running thin and he had to keep himself from swearing. He felt that if he did, then the blessing of the bow would be lessened or undone. He didn't know why he felt that, he just did.

He had prepared for such an event of course. The forest was large and he knew it might take time. That was why he had waited until a long weekend before he went out. In his duffle bag he had borrowed from his dad was enough food and water for five days and he had spare clothes with him. For a normal person this wouldn't be enough to go camping in the woods, but for a magus specializing in projection and tracing, it was more than enough. Anything else, such as map, compass, tent, sleeping bag, knives, axes and other equipment could simply be traced or in worst case scenario, manufactured on the spot.

He had been in the woods for over three hours when it started to rain. He had projected an umbrella and a waterproof poncho as a precaution. Even if he never got sick, the feeling of being utterly wet to the bone was not pleasant. The sun was setting behind the mountain when he found the perfect bow material. It was a yew tree with a large trunk that sprouted into several smaller branches. Though to simply call it large would be an understatement. The trunk itself could fit a medium-sized car with room to spare. He didn't think it was possible for a tree to grow so large in merely three-hundred years. He had to walk around it several times before he could find a proper piece for a bow. He was about to cut one of the branches on the outside off when he noticed an opening in the trunk, revealing it to be hollow. He wouldn't have paid it any attention if he hadn't all of a sudden smelled an incredible aroma coming from the small opening.

Shirou was a magus, but in his heart he would always be a man of taste and cuisine. His automatic response to something had always been cooking ever since he discovered the joys of blending several ingredients together in order to find the great prize that was food. In the two and a half years he had been alive, he had prepared meals delicious enough that Raiga, a man wealthy enough to own several cooks, had suggested he become a professional chef. He was proud of his accomplishments in the kitchen and anybody who had tasted anything from his menu would say he had every right to be.

That was why the scent that was making his stomach growl and mouth water almost drove him insane enough to jump straight into the dark hole which was hiding the source of such otherworldly fragrance. As it was, he merely hurried to the spot in order to peer down the hole. It was dark, too dark to see anything. Fortunately, he could remedy that in a second. He used a firespell to create a small flame in his hands to illuminate the small wooden cavern and aimed it down the crevice.

Despite the new light he could not see the soured of the mouthwatering fragrance. He decided to climb up the tree in order to stick his head in. He was slightly more successful in looking down the darkness as he could view the sides more than he could before, but he couldn't see what was beneath him. Considering he couldn't see anything that could be so appetizing in the corners he climbed even higher on the trunk on the tree in order to stick his chest inside.

Though now that he thought about it, sticking most of his body inside a dark hole when he was holding onto nothing, but wet bark might not be such a bright idea. It was too late though as he lost his grip and he fell through the opening and was knocked out when the back of his head hit the ground.

**AOB**

When he woke up, the rain had stopped. It was quiet, almost too quiet for a late summer evening. Though considering that the sun was shining through the hole he had fallen through, it might not be evening anymore.

He was up on his feet in seconds, two nameless daggers in his hands. He took in his surroundings and checked his back to ensure no enemies were around. It was a strange action for a child, but when you're raised by the Magus Killer your entire life is strange.

When he had assured himself that he was alone and safe, he lowered his guard and let the swords disappear. He didn't feel threatened by the place, but his pounding head made his Magecraft tricky to use. He checked his watch. The date said half past twelve, August twenty-sixth, four hundred fifty-seven. Good, he had only been out for a day. He had been worried that the impact had knocked him out for more. It was strange though, he had never been unconscious for more than a few hours from hits to the head so how could he have been asleep for so long?

He decided to put such thoughts away while he ate some breakfast. He hadn't eaten in over a day so he was quite hungry. He was about to take out his lunchbox when the same smell comes back. He took one look at his own homemade food before putting it back in his bag and following the scent.

It seemed that whatever it was that had smelled so deliciously had been taken out of the tree trunk while he had been unconscious because the fragrance was no longer inside the tree. Instead it was coming from the outside through the hole he had fallen through. He glared at the opening, as if it was its fault that he had slipped. He climbed out of the hole and saw the sun shine down on him.

But it didn't feel like it normally did. When the sun was out he would get a warm feeling on his skin where the beams hit, but this sun was different. It shone, yes, but it was a cold light. As if the wind had frozen the warmth in the bright beams and only brought frost with it. He shivered; there was something wrong with this place. He should leave as soon as possible and forget about the scent.

Yeah, that's what he would do, he would inhale the scent some more then leave. Even if the smell he had found unlike any other…

All right, it would be for the best if he just found the scent and left it alone. No point in bringing it with him, it was too dangerous. No matter how good the fragrance was…

He had made up his mind; he would find the delicious scent and bring it with him. It was the least he could do after coming this far and getting knocked out.

He jumped off the tree and took a deep whiff, but shivered when the icy air entered his nostrils. Where was it coming from? He had never encountered something like this before. Was it the result of planting a European forest in Japanese soil? Nah, couldn't be, there were plenty trees from other countries in Fuyuki. Was it global warming? Nope, it was getting colder, not warmer. Was he having a nightmare? He pinched himself and felt the pain, so no…

Did he fall down a rabbit hole and enter a world where the land is ruled by a queen wearing red who ordered everyone to be executed by decapitation?

He hoped not…

He followed that mesmerizing scent into a clearing and laid eyes on a woman. She was sitting by a tree, the roots rising from the ground serving as a perfect bench. At her side was a large black dog. It was sleeping with its head on her feet. In her lap was a weave basket, the kind you have when having a picnic. She was petting the dog with one hand and picking something up from the inside of the basket with the other.

When he came closer he managed to see her face, but was too stunned to move when he saw her beauty. She had dark red hair, as red as blood, that flowed down her back. Her hair was straight and reached her hips. Her eyes were a bright green and made Shirou think she had a very strong will, the way they sparkled with untold wisdom. Though they also gave him the impression hiding a sad past, a feeling he could not relate to. She wore a black dress that covered her assets, which were quite voluptuous, not that Shirou would think of that. The dress was made of some kind of black silk and lace as it cloaked most of her body in complete darkness, but her arms, legs and cleavage were covered with black lace. Around her neck was an elegant necklace. It was the kind you'd expect a queen to wear as it covered her neck in a weblike pattern. Though it did not look like silver. The dull colour reminded him more of iron.

When she noticed him standing there, her eyes widened. They both stared at eachother, both not knowing what to do. Shirou had no idea why the otherworldly beauty was surprised by him, but it probably had something to do with the sun and its icy warmth. He tried to move, but his body told him that if he did then he would break the standoff and the chance to admire her exquisite features.

The moment was broken when the dog nudged her leg. She turned her head towards the canine and stared at it. The dog stared back. A moment passed as message was passed from the dog to the woman. `Why did you stop scratching me? ´ It seemed to ask.

She turned back towards Shirou, though her hand had resumed scratching the black wolf-like dog behind the ears. This time Shirou had been prepared for it. When the allure of the woman hit him, he was able to shrug most of it off and wasn't completely frozen by her stare. He did feel a shiver going down his spine though when their eyes locked. Like someone was slowly tracing his spine with their fingers, but only the tips were touching his skin.

The woman finally opened her mouth and spoke.

"W-who might you be, young traveler?"

Her voice, while graceful and refined, wavered when she spoke, as if she had used it in a long time. Her eyes were focused on him, as if he left her sight he would disappear forever. Whenever made the slightest movement her body trembled, giving her the impression a desperate predator, pouncing on her unsuspecting prey. Shirou did not like that look, but found the expression on her face lovely nonetheless.

"I'm Shirou, Emiya Shirou. Umm, what's your name?" he asked timidly. She was looking at him with eyes far too eager for having just met him.

When he responded to her question and said his name, her expression changed. From a shocked appearance to a hopeful smile, but there was something hidden in her features. There was pleasure in her smile; some kind of sad delight was evident on her visage.

"Shirou? That's not a very common name, is it? Where are you from, Shi-i-ro-u?" She dragged out his name, relishing in the very act of pronouncing it. Her breaths had become fine mist in the cold air, but she did not show any reaction to the icy wind blowing, despite her lack of decent clothes. Shirou was not an expert when it came to expensive fabrics, but he knew enough to tell that silk and lace are not ideal for autumn and winter temperatures.

"It's not THAT common, but it's not uncommon. I know at least two other kids who have the same name in my school. And it's common knowledge that when someone gives you their name, you give your own," Shirou said, feeling a little annoyed that she didn't even introduce herself. Just because she was really, really, REALLY pretty didn't give her the right to be rude. Yoshida had taught him taught that much at least.

The woman, who had looked positively euphoric until now, looked stunned. She had looked as if she had expected total control, but had instead gotten a polite demand instead. From a child no less. She sputtered a reply.

"M- my name? would you- I mean , w-why would you want to know that? It's not something, I mean I-GURKLE!…" It seemed she had been unable to construct an answer for the boy. She stammered over her own words and, in her haste, she had bitten her own tongue. It was a strong contrast from the woman she had formerly appeared as. Before she had held herself as a queen, elegant and charismatic, though a little rusty it appeared. No though she looked like a child who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Shirou fought down his giggle. The woman may appear cute, but there was no denying the allure she possessed.

"Because it manners? Why wouldn't you give your name when you're having a conversation?" he asked, as if it was common sense.

…wait, it WAS common sense.

She looked uncomfortable for a second, squirming in her seat by the tree, her face in a cute frown. Then she finally gave in.

"It's… No, okay, it's… Wyrda, my name that is…" She finished weakly. For someone who acted like an almighty queen desired by all just a few minutes ago, she sure looked meek now. Thinking that, Shirou decided to take pity on her.

"Okay, Wyrda. But is it alright if I call you that? Don't you have a family name I can call you by? Though I actually prefer if I can use your given name. It's easier to talk to you that way." he said. All she did was to nod slowly, a smile shining brightly on her face. He continued.

"Anyway, since you asked what I'm doing here I might as well answer. I'm here to build a bow. Well, I was supposed to build a bow, but I was looking for a yew tree to make one of. I found a good branch, but there was this really nice scent so I decided to find what smelled so good. Then I tripped and passed out. Next thing I know, I'm in this place with that weird sunlight. That reminds me, how are you not cold? I'm wearing normal clothes with a poncho over that, but I'm still freezing!" He held his arms around him to get his point across that it was really cold.

Wyrda, for her part, looked even more shocked. She gestured to the field, indicating that she meant the air. "You feel it too? The cold, I mean," she asked.

He gave her his best `Duh! ´-impression.

"Of course I do. It's freezing out here. Can we make a fire or something? Can I make my tent here?" he asked. Now he was really starting to shiver. The wind was picking up speed and rain was starting to fall.

She snapped out of her moment of puzzlement and quickly answered. "YES, YES... I mean, of course you may." She had forced her enthusiasm down at the end, but he could still see her eagerness for shelter.

Shirou started activating his circuits when he realized he was about to show a woman he never met before his Magecraft. What if she doesn't know about magic? He couldn't reveal it like that, his father would kill him! Then he realized that the woman he was with was most likely not human to begin with and she probably already knew what Magecraft was, if her mystical allure and the icy sun was any indication.

"Trace on!" He said as he felt the gun in his head fire. From nowhere, a tent kit appeared. The red and orange synthetic fabric clashing horribly against the green of the forest around them. He hurried to the bag containing the tent and ripped it open. When he had gone to the store to buy the tent he had used structural grasp in order to determine the best model to be used, but as it turned out, his tracing could create a copy that would last for days. As such there wouldn't be any reason for him to lug around a heavy tent. The only problem was erecting the tent once traced. If it had been just him who would be inside he would have chosen a small tent made only for sleeping in order to change time, but now that he had a guest that was no longer an option. So he had opted for a larger tent. The one he traced looked more like a small shed actually. It had high walls and could fit a family inside.

The larger a tent was, the harder it was to set it up. That was the rule for tents, but when someone can use structural grasp and instantly know the way it's meant to be used, it doesn't take that mush time. That was why within five minutes, a large tent stood beside the tree. They both hurried inside to get away from the pouring rain, though thankfully the trees around them protected the tent from the strongest winds.

Once inside he took a look around. There were no imperfections or flaws in his projection, but he had hurried the spell so it wouldn't hold for the maximum four days he currently had, but would disappear somewhere on the second day. That was still acceptable though. He wouldn't need it for more than a night so the extra time was unnecessary.

Wyrda was still looking around, staring at his simple use of Magecraft. He was pretty sure she was aware of magic since she had one a powerful magic trait, but her reaction was odd for someone who was just looking at one of the most basic of spells. It made him wonder what she was…

She focused on him again.

"You're a magus?" She asked him. Yep, she was definitely aware of magic.

"Yes?" He was unsure on how to answer. He had assumed she knew more than he did about it, but she was just as surprised as he was. It unsettled him.

"For a child you are quite interesting. When did you start learning magic? What are your specialties? What's your Origin? Or Alignment? What's your most advanced spell?" She started firing off question after question, as if she had been deprived of a conversation with a magus for years and this was making up for lost time. He had to wave his hands in front of her to stop the onslaught of inquiries.

"Wait, wait, wait! I can't answer if you won't let me!" It was as if he was the adult and she was the child. A child telling a grown woman to behave, what has the world come to? "I've been learning magic for little more eight months now and I can use projection and a few elemental spells like fire and wind. But shouldn't you tell me how you know about magic? And how come you're here in this place? What is this place to begin with?" he asked her in turn. He needed some answers. This weather was not natural and even Shirou, with his less than perfect sense of danger, knew that this place was not safe for normal humans.

"I know about magic because I'm a magic user too. Or I was before. I can't use the arts anymore so I can't call myself that now." Her face lowered as she hung her head shamefully. For some reason Shirou could tell that she was suffering for what she did, but he thought that leaving her in a place like this was too much.

"Then do you want to come with me? I'm going to go back home after I found the stave for my bow, but you can come as well if you want," he told her. Her eyes snapped to focus on his. There it was again, the sad, hopeful look that told him she had spent more time here than her age suggested. He didn't know how he knew that, only that he could somehow tell the woman's feelings through her expressions. But as soon as the hope had entered her eyes, it disappeared. Instead she showed him a regretful smile.

"Unfortunately, I can't. I'm stuck here until I've paid my debt and that will probably take a long time. Longer than it will take for you to make your bow and leave, I'm afraid," she responded.

He sighed. Whatever she was, she was too stunning to wear a sad expression like that. To be honest, even as her sorrow filled her eyes, she was still the most bewitching creature he had ever met. He had little doubt there was any way her figure could ever be described as anything, but breathtaking.

"Then… how about I show you how to cook? I'm really good at cooking and I brought a lot of ingredients with me. My dad said I was wasting space with how much food I brought, but I said that it's impossible to waste space with good cuisine! Then he laughed and said I didn't know what cuisine meant. I said it meant good food and then he laughed even more!" His face developed a frown as he thought about it, but snapped out of it when he focused on Wyrda again. "So do you want to? I can get the supplies out right now." Wyrda was surprised by his enthusiasm it seemed as she froze and slowly nodded. She recovered from her shock before she smiled.

"If you want to, you're welcome to try. I've never had the talent for cooking nor did it interest me in the past so don't expect me to learn anything right away. Unless it's related to witchcraft or akin to it, then I'm afraid it's a wasted effort, Shirou," she informed him, reverting back to her noble persona. Though he could tell she was eager to try his cooking, if her cautious glances to his duffle bag were any indication.

He set down his bag on the ground and walked towards the middle of the tent. Larger tents like tipis were capable of having a fire inside thanks to the design. This was a good idea for Shirou as he liked the idea of cooking indoors when it rained. As such when Shirou had chosen a tent, he made sure that it had an opening in the middle where he could start a fire. He pulled away the synthetic fabric to reveal slightly moist grass, excellent for starting a fire over. The water ensured the fire didn't spread and cause a forest fire. If the grass had been dry, he would have had to use a water spell to dampen it. Now for some firewood.

He went out of the tent, tracing a new raincoat as his old one was dirty and the smell was less than pleasant. The tree Wyrda had been sitting next to was old and large, with plenty of branches that would make excellent firewood. It would be slightly damp, due to the fact that it was still attached to the tree, but if it had been lying on the ground it would have started rotting and wouldn't burn unless it was under extreme heat. He traced a battle axe, since he never took the time to look at a hatchet or fire axe, and started chopping the wood off from the tree. Once he had a small pile of logs at his feet he started chopping the logs into smaller pieces which he brought inside.

Wyrda had sat herself in the corner, watching him with an intense stare. She was drinking in his appearance with his every movement. The dog, who had once more put its head on her lap, was staring at him as well, but unlike before, now it was staring at him with caution and hostility. Was the dog intelligent enough to understand Magecraft? If so, he should be extra careful around the beast. The fangs on that thing could do some serious damage.

He put the smallest pieces of wood on the grass and uttered a small spell "Ignis" under his breath. The small wooden sticks ignited in a bright red and yellow flame and Shirou felt the heat emanating from it. He was also aware of the dog shuffling on the other side of the flame, as if it was preparing itself for an attack.

As he waited for the flames to grow hot enough he traced a large pot and a matching tripod to hold it over the flames. While doing it he watched Wyrda out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at his use of magic, a longing expression on her face. Every time he traced something, her eyes would sparkle and she would give an almost inaudible sigh. She looked mesmerizing with her crimson hair locks falling in front her face, giving her a wild beauty.

He shook his head. What was going on with him? He had never had these kind of thoughts before, so why now? She was beautiful yes, but this was getting ridiculous. He was eight years old, for Pete's sake! Why was he saying things about a woman no eighth year old should say and how did he even know what they meant?

He opened his duffle bag and brought out the ingredients. Oil, meat, vegetables, water, flour and other various substances used in food. He poured the some oil from a small bottle into the pot and was about to add the meat when Wyrda's shout of "Wait!" stopped him. He looked at her as she was picking something up from the picnic basket she had been holding all along. What she brought out made his stomach rumble.

It was the tantalizing scent he had been searching for. It had been inside the basked all this time, taunting him with its fragrance, but in the presence of Wyrda he had forgotten all about it. Now though he could appreciate the ingredient for what it was. It was some kind of smoked meat, capable of being eaten as it was or cooked even further. It was wrapped in a large leaf, larger than Shirou had ever seen on a tree in Fuyuki. The gloriously prepared ingredient had been sliced into several smaller slices, like the ones you put on a sandwich, but slightly larger.

"If you want to you can use this instead of what you brought with you. It's from a special kind of creature around here. If you eat it you're said to experience a taste so divine you'll never forget it," she said with a bright smile. Unlike the ones before this was the bewitching type of smile, the one lesser men would fall trap to in less than a second.

Although Shirou was no lesser man (technically he wasn't even a man yet), he had never come across such a rare A-rank ingredient before in his life. It took all of his might not to swipe the meat from her hands and throw it into the pot. In the end all he did was to give his innocent puppy-imitation and ask "Really? Are you sure?" Her confident and charismatic smile was the only response he needed before he took the aforementioned meat and dropped it into the oil. The sound of sizzling meat filled the tent as the delicious scent he had been chasing was transformed into a meal fit for a king. The end result was a stew made with carrots, potatoes, mushrooms, onions, meat and spices. Shirou had to admit he would have a hard time topping this dish even with his kitchen back home.

He started serving the stew into two bowls he had traced, but changed his mind and added another bowl. Ha kept one and gave the second to Wyrda and the third to the dog. If the dog was intelligent enough to recognize Magecraft then it was intelligent enough to appreciate good food. The dog took one look at the bowl then looked at Shirou. Shirou stared back. Then the dog dug into the food with surprising ferocity. Shirou smiled and ate his own food.

Wyrda on the other hand had been watching him. When he had been serving the food, she hadn't even registered taking her own serving. All she had been thinking about had been seeing him eat. When he took the first bite, she gained a large smile on her face. This was not the bewitching smile, or the seductive smile, but the smile you got when a plan is successful. She then turned her attention to her own bowl and took a small bite with her spoon that Shirou had thoughtfully supplied.

Shirou saw her eyes widen and a small blush spread across her face. It lasted a second before she tore into her dinner with glee. It seemed his plan to overwhelm her with his cooking had gone off without a hitch.

Unknown to the two of them, they had both thought their plan had succeeded.

They didn't know that only one had been a real success.


	2. What Time Is It?

_Archer of Black_

_Chapter two: What time is it?_

**AOB**

When the word bow comes up, the majority tends to thinks about the English longbow. This might have something to do with Robin Hood and his band of thieves. But make no mistake there are plenty of different bows of shapes and sizes.

There are longbows, composite bows, reflex bows, recurve bows and compound bows. These bows can also be divided into several categories. Self-bow, laminated bow and Holmegaard bow are few of these categories. It's easy to get lost in the different names and styles.

The reason Shirou had chosen the English longbow was quite simple.

The English longbow was normally made of yew, an uncommon wood in japan. The forests in England on the other hand were large and plenty with the tree, until the fifteenth century that is. They also had another reason for being used as bows. Archers, at least those capable of using Magecraft, wanted the blessings of the nature spirits. Yew had a strong connection to death and thus spirits. Both the Celtic and Christian religions used the yew as a way to connect with the dead. So when an archer wants the greatest weapon with him in battle, he would of course choose the greatest base material. Hence the yew was chosen.

What the archers didn't know was that their choice of using bows with connection to the dead automatically gave them a connection to a certain kind of people they did not normally want to contact; the Fae.

The Fae were a strange folk. They were said to be the spirits of the dead and had a phobia of cold iron. So a bow would be their perfect weapon. But people were afraid of the Fae, why wouldn't they be? They hid themselves from the world and were users of strange, but powerful magic. There were stories of Fae kidnapping women and men to keep in their world as pets. They would then let them go after a few days had gone by for them, but in the real world decades had passed and the captives would die upon returning to their homes.

Had Shirou been a normal person, he would have avoided making any sort contact with the Fae. The problem was that Shirou was not a normal person and as such he wanted to make contact with them.

The longbow he wanted to make was a self-bow. A self-bow is a bow made from a single piece of wood. Unlike composite bows, which are made from wood, horn, bone and sinew, a self-bow does not require specialized tools. A self-bow can be made with an axe and knife, while the composite bow needs several other factors. It is also better for countries where humidity is a problem as the animal glue used in composite bows would weaken in contact with water. The time it took to craft a bow was also a major difference. It took months for the composite bow to dry, while the self-bow could be dried in a week if circumstances were willing.

And while the English longbow was quite long, sometimes over a meter and a half, it could be customized to be shorter, at the expense of the released arrow's power. Shirou was quite young and therefore short, but he had no intention of making the bow shorter or weaker.

He would make the strongest bow, and with the blessings of the Fae, it would become one of his greatest treasures.

That was why he did not scream in panic or lose himself in fear when Wyrda told him he had entered the Fae-world.

Instead he started doing a small victory dance while laughing in excitement.

"Why are you happy? This place is dangerous! Haven't you heard the stories? If the Fae see you they will catch you and turn you into one of their pets!" Wyrda exclaimed, most likely trying to instill a sense of danger into the boy. Shirou for his part didn't seem to think what she said mattered that much.

"Yeah, but I wanted a Fae-bow from the beginning! All I have to do is get a Fae to bless the tree I make the bow from, ensure that I don't get captured, cut a branch from the tree and get out of here. This is even better than what I had been hoping for." Apparently the possibility of being enslaved by the fairies didn't register as a threat to the boy who had finally stopped his dance when Wyrda addressed him.

"Better than you… Listen! Fae are dangerous! They're not people you can reason with. Even the Seelie court isn't to be trifled with! You think you can just… just go up to them and ask them to bless your weapons? That's just stupid! You'll get yourself killed, or worse, enslaved!" She had by now lost her image of calm and was waving her hands around as if that would get her point across. It didn't.

Shirou was not convinced. "I know just asking them to make my bow a fairy weapon is stupid, but who said I was just going to ask them? I was going to ask them if there were any chores or tasks I could do in payment. That's one of the reasons I went in the summer, when the Seelie court is ruling. If I made a bow in the forest in the summer then the Seelie court would notice it and the odds of it gaining magical properties would increase. If I had waited until winter then the Unseelie would kill me before I could make a bow. I know they're dangerous, but this is my only chance. How many humans can claim to have visited the Fae world twice?" His previously childish outburst had disappeared and had been replaced with a thinking expression. "If I don't try my luck now, I would probably regret it forever. Besides, Fae usually took pity on children, didn't they? Unless they replaced it with a changeling that is…"

Wyrda stared at him like he was crazy. Most likely he didn't seem like such a nutcase the night before, so why was he trying to contact some of the most dangerous and unpredictable races in the world? Even if the Seelie court was the lesser of two evils, they were still known for abducting humans and enslaving them. The only reason the Seelie court was seen as the kinder of the two was because they wouldn't hurt you if you did treat them with respect and left them alone. The Unseelie court thought making humans their slaves was a gift.

"You can't expect them to help you just because you ask nicely and try to offer your services. It would just anger them and make them want to hurt you. In the first place, why do you require their blessing at all? Any yew tree in the Fae world would suffice if you want a bow with Fae origin. To ask a Fae for their help would endanger you for little reason," she told him, trying to make him see reason.

He turned to her and she could see the gears turning in his head. His eyes focused on nothing, showing he was deep in thought.

"So you're saying there wouldn't be any difference in making a bow out of any tree here and a bow made out of a blessed tree? No difference at all?" he asked her.

She stopped herself from answering immediately. There would most likely be a difference. All forests in the Fae world were enchanted to a certain degree. Making a bow from any of them would result in a bow stronger than any of human make and more durable to boot. But if pureblooded fairy blessed the tree or the bow it would imbue the bow with a purpose or characteristic. It would vary depending on the Fae he asked, but a blessed tree was better than a normal one.

"Well, there would be a difference, but not one you should risk life and limb for. Why would you need something like that to begin with? You can craft a purpose into the bow on your own without the need of a fairy. You could just take the stave and go." Her voice had lost its demanding point and had taken on a more pleading tone. "Listen, if the bow means that much to you then I could bless it."

Shirou looked at her liked she had grown a second head. Sure, he had known she wasn't human and she might have been a fairy from the way she looked and the effect she had on him, but she did not act like he had expected form the Fae. The Fae were powerful spirits without any human sentiments at all. Wyrda looked and acted like a human for the most part. If he used wood from the Fae world then the blessing would have to be from a Fae. Otherwise the spells might clash or cancel eachother out.

"Can you do that? You don't look like a Fairy?" he asked. True, he had never met a fairy before, but he had studied the texts. Fairies can be of any form, but they can take on the form of human imaginations. She might be a fairy who manifested from his own mind, but he had never seen a woman who looked like her before.

She looked affronted at his question. "Of course I can! Giving my personal blessing to a spirit tree is something I've been able to do since I was less than a century," she proudly proclaimed. Her chin up and back straight, she looked every bit as noble as the noble families Kiritsugu had told him about. Even the pose she was currently in was something he had imagined they would use.

"But you told me yesterday that you couldn't use magic at all. What's up with that?" he asked her.

"Using magic and giving a blessing are two different things. One requires the use of prana in the form of Od while the other requires the use of Mana. We are in the world of Fae right now and the very air you breathe is made of Mana. Even if you do find a pureblooded fairy to bless the tree, it wouldn't make any difference from what you would get if I did it." She said confidently.

"But what is the difference between you and the Fae?" he asked her.

"Hmm… Nothing much really. Our origins may differ, but our essence is the same. I'm about as much Fae as any of the famous ones you've heard of."

"Huh… Okay then! What are you going to do about the bow then?" he asked eagerly. His enthusiasm about getting his own Fae bow was starting to resurface now. All those hours spent reading about bows and theirs different varieties, all those times he had to practice archery at the Kyudo club, they were all going to pay off now!

"First of all, a Fae weapon is not something you just make. I could enchant any branch you find, but without proper tools and materials it wouldn't be half as powerful as it could be," she said with a thinking pose.

"You need tools and materials to give your blessing?" he asked, perplexed. "I thought all you had to do was give a long speech about love and justice, do a few elaborate movements and that would be it. There wasn't anything about tools in the texts."

She gave him a look that said `_Which one of us knows how to enchant things?´. _"I doubt you'll find anything about Fae rituals in any human books. We don't use tools like knives or hammers. Iron and steel does not work well with our magic so we have developed magic tools of our own to aid us in our craft. Though most of them are for crafting of the weapon itself, not the enchantment so you don't need to worry about that. All you need to do is collect a branch of the leafless hazel tree a few miles away from here and to carve a wooden bowl from this ash tree. It should not be too much of a task for a magus of your talents," she said as she sat down on the old tree once more, an expectant smile on her face.

Her smile didn't last long however when Shirou didn't move from his spot. "What are you waiting for? You have your task, now go and complete it. We don't have all day!"

"What task?" he asked her. "You didn't even tell me where the tree is! How am I supposed to find one tree in a whole forest of them?" He gestured to the trees around them. "At least tell me which direction it is and what is looks like!"

She sighed, the kind of sigh you make when are suffering from a severe headache. "Fine, it appears your knowledge of the more noble arts in life is not as fulfilling as I had hoped. If you can't even do a simple location spell then I guess I will have to help you find it." She plucked a leaf from the ash tree and tied a string around it. She then walked towards Shirou and tied the other end of the string to his jacket.

Despite the fact that there was no wind the leaf floated in midair before moving in one direction away from him. It ignored him when he touched it as it was completely pointing away from him.

"The leaf is from an ash tree and it hates Hazel trees with a passion. The tree you seek is the mightiest tree in the forest and as such small leaves such as this one avoid it as if their lives depended on it. As long as you go in the opposite direction of the leaf then you will find it. Understand, Shirou? Go in the opposite direction of the leaf and bring me back a branch from the leafless hazel tree. Oh and while you're at it, go find the bow stave you've been looking for," she said with a smile. Once more her smile was that of a teacher encouraging a student.

Though he would never admit it, he was confused by the speed her expressions could shift. One minute she was happy, the next annoyed and the third she could be happy again. Was this the behavior of the Fae or was she simply just strange?

"Okay, I'll see you soon!" With that he was on the way, half running half walking in the opposite direction of the flying leaf.

Wyrda waved him off, her eyes focused on the boy slowly leaving her view. Only when he had entered the forest on the opposite side of clearing did the benevolent smile on her face disappear to leave way for a victorious grin.

"Tehe… Hahahahahah! Can you believe that kid? He thinks I'm going to help him out of the goodness of my heart! I always knew the humans are foolish, but this is a bit too much even for them!" The Woman Called Wyrda barked out between fits of laughter.

The dog next to her looked her over and as if to bark at the laughing woman it opened it mouth. But instead of the bark of a dog, what was heard from the canine creature was the voice of a man.

"Are you sure about this, my Lady? Your sisters won't sit quietly and watch you break free. They go together again once they find out what has happened." The voice of the large black dog was rough and haggard. As if the owner had a disease of the throat and fought for every word.

The woman scoffed at his words, her previous façade forgotten entirely. Not even a trace of the elegance and nobility was left and the expression she wore now was one of utter contempt and disgust, an ugly form if it had ever been seen by anyone around. "As if! They are too occupied by their own domains to notice anything. They fell from grace a long time ago and never had the courage to regain their former place. Verdandi might notice what I'm planning, but she won't be able to stop it until after it is done. Skuld is too busy observing the possibilities to care and even if she did care about the future it wouldn't matter if one boy disappeared. Did you look at him? He's a failure as a magician! I'm almost embarrassed to require his help!"

The dog continued to stare at the Fae, though the facial expression never changed. "Nevertheless my Lady, I think it would be for the best if you did not do this. The ramifications of your actions could echo beyond the world of Fae and into the human world. If that does come to pass then both Verdandi and Skuld would band together to set things right," her canine companion warned.

The Woman Called Wyrda scoffed at the black dog's advice before her eyes narrowed. "For centuries we've been trapped in this place and now that we have a chance to escape you tell me to let it go? Whose side are you on exactly? Don't tell me Verdandi finally won you over with her promises of power? You and I both know she isn't one to keep her promises!"

The large dog did not respond to the woman's accusations, but lowered its head onto its paws to rest. The Woman Called Wyrda frowned at its lack of response and a "Tch!" escaped her mouth. Though she did sit down on the root of the tree after a while, her glare directed towards her canine companion never receded.

**AOB**

"Bye! See ya later!" Shirou yelled as he walked away with his bowstave over his shoulder. The hazel tree he had searched for had been easy to find with the enchanted leaf Wyrda had given him. It had been enormous even for the Fae standard. The fact that not even a single leaf was left on its branches did give invoke a feeling of dread, as if its very existence was malevolent. The grass around it had been dry and dead and the other trees were at closest twenty meters away. Whatever that tree was, it was not something Shirou wanted to be near for long. He chopped of a branch off and was on his way back to Wyrda, though he made sure to keep his hands away from the sap dripping from the damaged parts of it. The hazel tree had somehow poisoned the ground around it and he didn't want to take any chances about what the poisonous part about it was.

While he carried the hazel branch he had cut off he passed a yew tree on the way. Like all trees in the Fae world it was a humongous specimen so cutting off a large branch as thick as his thigh was didn't make much difference. It di become a bit of a problem when the yew branch and the hazel branch proved to be too heavy for the child's imperfect reinforcement, but with a bit if effort he was able to half lift, half drag the two large wooden logs. Although he did leave two large tracks wherever he went due to the logs dragging into the ground.

When he finally got back to the campsite he had to use his projections to carve a wooden bowl from the ash tree Wyrda had been sitting on. Let it just be said that Shirou would never ever say being a carpenter was an easy. His hands were covered with bandages before he had come halfway and he was sure he would have lost a finger or two if Kiritsugu hadn't taken the time to teach him that minor healing spell. Also note to self; never swing an axe one-handed if you're not sure the axe is not going to bounce away to strike your fingers.

After many spells and curses later he had a very ugly and rough wooden bowl in his savaged hands. Wyrda gave the bowl a look as if she was feeling physically ill from being in close contact with the carved container, but she took it nevertheless. She used a knife Shirou had traced for her to fill the bowl with sap from the hazel branch and crushed the leaves from the ash tree into the sap while chanting words he presumed were from the language of the Fae. The entire ritual lasted less than three minutes and contrary to what he had expected there were no lights or sparks involved. Just a woman filling a bowl with tree sap and saying a short speech in a language he did not understand. Quite disappointing, he thought. After the ritual was over Wyrda told him never to tell anyone about what had happened. He had agreed of course since no one would believe him anyway. After that he had left.

About two hours after he left through the tree he had entered the Fae world in the first place, he had arrived home. He left the yew branch in the workshop of their home and went to look for Kiritsugu. He found him taking a nap by the porch. Deciding to let his old man get his rest he went to get the textbooks about making a longbow.

Wyrda had said the trees in the Fae world are made from Mana and would adapt to the environment and the needs around it. Since Shirou had cut it down in order to make a bow and she had blessed it for that purpose, it should be ready to be carved into a bow immediately he cut it down. Tracing a knife made to carve wood he set out to make his new bow.

**AOB**

Kiritsugu woke up from his nap about five o'clock, still tired and bruised. The curse form Angra Mainyu was making him more tired by the day and it hurt to move his body even an inch. It even made small injuries larger than they should be. The day before he had dropped book on his toe and although it might have hurt normally, it wouldn't have turned his entire foot into a swollen blue bruise. It shouldn't have, but it did. Everywhere on his body he had developed large scars and wounds from insignificant injuries ranging from snubbed toes to splinters from poorly treated wood. He was almost unable to leave the house due to the danger he would be putting himself in. He had been able to spar with Shirou due to the child's inexperience and lack of skill, but it didn't seem like he would be able to keep that up for very long. Shirou was improving each day and his reflexes and speed were only outmatched by his enthusiasm to learn. Sparring with the boy might prove fatal for him from now on. It might be better to let Taiga take over his training.

Opening his eyes he was met with the sight of the door to the shed being wide open and the sound of someone working inside. Rising slowly, he winced when he felt his muscles and bruises protest against the strain, but he pressed on. None of his bounded fields had activated so it couldn't be an intruder even if they had found him. Was Shirou back already? He checked his watch. He left just six hours ago and it would have taken him several hours to get to the part of the forest he needed to be. Could he actually have made it back in order to start his bow already?

Walking through the door to the shed he saw a lot of wooden shavings. A LOT of wooden shavings. The entire floor was covered by millimeter thin wooden slices that could be mistaken for paper if it wasn't the colour of wood and not the usual white. As he neared the center of the room the shavings rose in height until his feet were covered by the wooden strips and he saw the cause of it.

Shirou was sitting by the desk in the room and was tying the bowstring to the ends of his new longbow. It was a large thing, perhaps a little too large for the small child and it gave off a feeling of prana. It was matte black in colour, most likely because kiritsugu had taught him covering runes with black colour disguises the purpose of the spell. Interestingly enough, he had added what looked like a hand guard to the bow, perhaps in order to better aim or to protect his hand from potential magic attacks.

Shirou had still not noticed him; he was too focused on the task at hand. Tying the bowstring using the knot he had learnt from the book, he finished the last stage of the procedure. He cut off the unneeded thread and wrapped the last part around the wood to keep it from flying around. He picked up the bow from the table and tried stringing it back, only to fail as the strength required to use it was far above his natural ability. He tried once more using reinforcement and grinned when the string followed his hand back and didn't snap from the stress. He let go of the string and the sound of the thin wire slicing through the air reverberated within the workshop.

"Pretty good for something made in just under a few hours," Kiritsugu said from his place by the pillar.

Shirou jumped from the sound of his voice and almost dropped his newly made weapon. Thankfully he was able to grasp the wooden construct before it made contact with the ground.

"Dad! Wh… Err, when did you get here?" he asked his adopted father. Letting his heartbeat slow down he tried to take a calming breath.

"I just woke up and heard you working in here. I didn't think you'd be done so soon though. You've only been gone for a few hours and the bow is already done?" Kiritsugu asked with disbelief in his voice.

"Yeah, well I've been practicing how to make a bow for a while now and I found a really good tree from the start so all I had to do was bring it home and start carving away. I'm a little surprised at how easy it went. It was never this simple during practice, especially the runes," he answered mostly truthfully. He had been practicing and he did found a good tree. He was very surprised at how the entire went, but it was to be expected from a blessed Fae tree. It almost seemed to guide him when he was carving the runes into it and he never made a single mistake when cutting into it. He had made plenty of mistakes when learning how to use runes and he was still unable to really master the art of ancient runes.

"I think you underestimate your progress in that field. Runes are not very popular amongst noble families, partially due to the vulgar nature of the people who invented the system, but mostly due to the difficulty in mastering it. Your lack of talent in commanding mainstream Magecraft can be overcome by your talent in runes; otherwise we wouldn't be teaching you how to use it," Kiritsugu told him with and encouraging tone.

"Yeah, if you say so." He looked down at the bow in his hands. It was a monstrous thing and he didn't think he'd be able to use it without reinforcement for a long while. The wood itself was strengthened form the Fae enchantment on it and the fact that it was from the Fae world, but he had increased the effect with the runes used. Ehwaz for strengthening and several more to increase sturdiness and resistance as well as for useful effects on the arrows. It wouldn't be worn down from rain or fire, not if he had anything to say about it.

"Why don't we try to fire a couple of arrows for target practice? We still need to know if it is more powerful than a compound bow. You remember our deal right?" Kiritsugu said while gesturing for the door.

Shirou nodded, he remembered. If it proved weaker than the bow his father had enhanced with runes he would have to use the compound bow instead of his longbow he just finished. Of course he was certain his newly crafted bow would prove victorious, but it didn't remove the small sliver of doubt in his mind that maybe he would lose.

Steeling himself for the inevitable, he walked out of the shed.

The Emiya estate was a large house surrounded by large plots of land. While not at the level of a manor, it did have a lot of free space for the owner to utilize. Currently at the end of the backyard next to the wall was a large bale of hay with a painted target on it. It was nowhere near the limit of range for Shirou's bow or the compound bow so the winner would be declared by how far the arrows would sink into the hay.

Kiritsugu picked up the compound first and although he wasn't a professional archer, he was still able to aim and fire. The arrows he used were bodkin point arrows, made to penetrate the metal armour of medieval knights.

His father notched the arrow and pulled the string back in order to aim. After a second or so he let the arrow fly.

It flew through the air for a little less than a second before it burrowed into the target and sank about halfway into it. Quite far considering they had reinforced it to ensure it didn't just go through it instead. After retrieving the arrow and measuring the depth of the shot they concluded that the arrow could penetrate halfway if fired form a compound bow.

Now it was Shirou's turn. He traced a bodkin point arrow he had seen Kiritsugu hold and notched it. Unlike the compound bow, the traditional English longbow didn't have an arrow rest where the arrow would be held and go through. His however did have one in the form of a hand guard where he had made a slight curved edge in the side of the guard where the arrow would be. It was an unnecessary addition, but he thought it was useful at the time.

He notched the arrow and laid it to rest on the hand guard before he drew the string back. He had to reinforce his entire upper body to draw the bow back completely due to the stiffness of the bow, but he figured he could always train more until he could use it without Magecraft. He couldn't keep it drawn for long however because as soon as he reached maximum strength the string escaped his grip and the arrow broke through the air and into the bale of hay.

There was no competition. The arrow didn't sink into the hay halfway; it didn't sink into it at all. The moment the arrow touched the reinforced hay half of the bale exploded into a shower of grass and straws. It was more akin to a missile than an arrow. Both he and Kiritsugu stared at the clear act of destruction, wide-jawed. It took him several moments before he could gather the composure to collect the arrow, only to find it protruding business-end out of a tree a few meters away from the target. The arrow didn't break from immense strain of being fired from the Fae bow; he had reinforced it prior to firing it. It did however show several cracks along the shaft and the arrowpoint had chipped until looked like a serrated arrowpoint rather than a bodkin one.

He looked back to his father and waited for his judgment, despite the fact that he knew the answer. Kiritsugu had recovered his normal expression, but he was still staring a little warily at the bow in Shirou's hands. After a moment or two he sighed and started walking away from the yard, only to stop and turn to Shirou after a few steps.

"You still have to learn how to fire it properly," was all he said before he went back into the house.

It might have been because he was tired and wanted to sleep that he rushed into the house…

Or it might have been because he didn't want to see Shirou's victory dance with his bow in the air and grin on his face.

**AOB**

The days passed slowly after that. His days were spent either studying for school, cooking or doing chores, tinkering with his Mystic Codes, undergoing physical training, learning Magecraft or getting the basics of tactics and strategy drilled into his eight year old skull. Not the life a child should have, but most children did not survive a sea of flame that should have left them scarred and crippled for life or dead. So he didn't really find any problem with it, except he didn't really have time to try out some of those new dishes he had learnt from the TV.

Roasting an entire pig over an open fire was just one of those things he never had the time to try.

Still there was one major change in his life. Kiritsugu died just after he turned eleven.

He had died in his sleep. There was no way he could have known his old man was dying. Just before he had gone to sleep they had sat on the porch and talked about Kiritsugu's dream of being a hero. Turns out he still had hopes of being one, it was just he didn't think he'd ever actually make it. Just the amount of people he killed would make it look like he was on the other side of that dream. Rather than a defender of Justice, Kiritsugu was more often than not considered to be a man of pure evil, a murderer without a conscience. While it was nowhere near true, one could not deny the actions he had taken even if it was to save many more.

_To save one person means not being able to save another. _

Perhaps that was why he was able to go peacefully in the end. With the promise that Shirou would become the hero he had never been able to be, he was given some reassurance that not everything he had done had involved murder of innocents.

It had been hard trying to adapt to a life alone. He was so used to Kiritsugu that a life without the childish man who couldn't cook for the life of him that he almost fell into a lesser coma. Alas that had been three years ago and he had finally started to get back into a normal rhythm. Taiga would come over for breakfast and dinner in the guise of coming over to check on him while Raiga would take him to Sumo matches. He'd go to school, practice his archery, go home, go through his physical training and finally spar with Taiga. Kiritsugu had left him plenty of written journals on how to create and break through bounded fields as well as other tidbits of information Kiritsugu had gained during his life as the most efficient assassin ever to walk the earth. In the beginning he would only go through the motions, but after a while a habit had emerged. The beginning was the toughest, but with each passing day he would be able to move on a little more. In the end he had to accpet that death was a part of life, for good or bad.

He was walking home from his archery meeting (his senpai had asked him to show them his English longbow he had crafted and given them a lesson on how to create a bow) when he felt the stabbing pain in his chest. Unlike anything he had ever felt before, with the exception of the time he was being scorched alive in the Fuyuki fire, it was as if had fastened several fishing hooks around his heart and was tugging at the strings. He collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath, but his lungs wouldn't comply.

Crawling forward he hoped to find anyone who could help him, but it was late at night so the street was empty and dark. Quickly applying a healing spell on his chest area, fearing it to be something akin to poison, he found it to have no effect. Suddenly the pain blossomed up again as a red light shone in front of him and pulled him in.

The moment he was absorbed into the light he blacked out, the pain becoming too much for him as he entered the blissfull abyss.

**AOB**

When he woke up he was in a forest. His ribs ached and the chance some of them were broken were quite high. The stones beneath him had done nothing to break his fall if the pain in his back was any indication. He tried to sit up, but his legs and lower back was protesting in response to his efforts so even though they might not be broken, they were definitely bruised. He finally achieved a sitting position and despite his pounding headache he forced himself to survey the situation as Kiritsugu had taught him.

His body was injured. His lower ribs were broken while his upper ribs were cracked. His legs and hips were cracked as well, but not at the same level of his ribs. Most of his body was covered in bruises and he might be suffering from internal bleeding if the pain in his gut was any indication. The headache and nausea were likely signs of dehydration, which meant he had been unconscious for at least a day. He had at least fourteen open wounds of which three looked to be infected judging by the smell and sight of the bloody tears in his skin. Furthermore his magic circuits were spent. He barely had enough for a few spells and even that was pushing it.

Focusing on his longbow, he was relieved to find it appear in his hand a second later. It was a sideeffect from the Fae enchantment. He could astralize the bow when he wanted to in a manner similar to what the heroic spirits could, according to Kiritsugu. Though not exactly the same, it did come in handy if he ever needed it.

He also had no idea where he was or who had abducted him. He was in a forest, but it did not look like any Japanese forest at all. The forest was incredibly thick and the trees tall, a far cry from the forests near Fuyuki. It was also very cold, far too cold for July in Japan. Which meant wherever he was, he had been moved quite a bit north. His school clothes were drenched from rain and he shivered when the wind blew. He had to get out of the forest before he froze to death. Finding out who had kidnapped him was second in priority to his survival.

Getting up, he groaned at the sudden pain flaring up in his body. Casting a healing spell on his body a second time that day he was glad when the burning agony was reduced to a smoldering ache. The dehydration and infection he couldn't do anything against at the moment, but the immediate cuts and bruises could be dealt with, something he was learning to appreciate at the moment. Taking a step however, the pain in his legs reminded him that even though he had used a spell to heal the majority of his injuries, broken and cracked bones took longer to heal. Tracing a quarterstaff, he used it to relieve his legs from the majority of his weight when moving.

He must have been walking for over an hour before he found one of the things he was looking for: a small creek flowing with clear water. He collapsed next to the flowing water and practically shoved his head into the creek, drinking the life important fluid as if he life depended on it… well, technically his life did depend on it so his lack of manners could be excused.

After having drunk all he could on a single breath he came back up gulping for air. He was about to dunk his head back down when he heard a voice behind him.

"You know, last time we met you were much more elegant when drinking," The Voice said. He spun around, swinging the staff into a defensive stance. He ignored the aching of his legs and ribs as they were forced to work while still healing.

The woman in front of him was familiar, very familiar. In fact, it didn't take more than a second before he recognized her crimson hair and emerald eyes. It was very hard to forget the very first Fae you meet in life, even more so if the Fae in question helped you make your own mystic code.

"You're… Wyrda?" he asked her. A multitude of scenarios come to mind as to why she was here.

"Amazing! The boy possesses enough brain functions to recognize a lady. Remarkable!" Wyrda said in a sarcastic tone. When she made no effort to continue Shirou decided to take things into his own hands.

"What's going on? What happened to me and why am I here?" He had still not dropped his stance, fearing there was a hidden enemy somewhere and that smile The Woman Called Wyrda was wearing did nothing to alleviate his worries.

"Aw, what's the matter? Is the little magus boy afraid of little old me? Oh my, to think I went all that effort to bring you here and you don't seem appreciate my act of kindness. Truly, you humans are fickle things," The Woman Called Wyrda said while she sat down on a rock a few meters away from him.

Shirou's eyes narrowed at her words. "What do you mean with that? Why would you bring me here?" He changed his stance, but instead of a defensive one he opted for an offensive stance instead.

"You know, you're not nearly as cute when you're frowning like that. You're what? Fourteen years old? You should smile more often. I remember when we met in the Forest of Frost and you couldn't stop smiling when you found out we were in the Fae world. What happened to that Shirou? Did he die and get replaced by Mr. Frown over here?" She didn't even acknowledge him as a threat it seemed, not even after he showed aggressive actions. Not that he could blame her. She was a fairy and could most likely sense his prana levels. Not even a second-rate magus would take him seriously in his state.

It didn't mean he had to admit it.

"He was pretty angry when he found out you kidnapped him and threw him in a forest who know how many miles from his home." He answered without batting an eye at her jokes.

The Woman Called Wyrda let out a small, almost unnoticeable, laugh while she brought out a nail file from root knows where and started using it to trim her nails. Her blatant arrogance ignited the flames of rage in Shirou and he was about to walk up to her and demand she bring him back when _**IT**_walked out from behind the rock.

_**IT**_ was a giant dog, black as night. It had the basic appearance of an Irish wolfhound, but nobody in their right state of mind would call it such. The first clue was the yellow eyes which seemed to glow in the eye sockets and the way it seemed to stare him down, daring him to move. The second clue was that it was bigger than any natural dog. It towered over even Wyrda when she was standing and it looked like it could go toe to toe with a bull. The third and final clue was when it _spoke._

"My Lady, may I remind you of the reason we appeared before the poor boy? It wouldn't do either of you any favors by forgetting why we are here." Contrary to its appearance, the voice was polite and respectful. Though it sounded rough and wretched, the dog was apparently well-trained and taught. Compared to the yakuza he met while helping Raiga, it was strangely endearing.

It didn't change the fact that it looked ready to tear him to pieces.

The Woman Called Wyrda clapped her hands together. "Ah, that's right! I completely forgot about that, thanks for reminding me, Gellert!" She threw away the nail filer and it shattered into sparks in the air. "The reason I called you here is because I need you to take my place," she said without a care in the world.

Shirou felt dread settle into his gut, despite not understanding her words. "What?"

"It's quite simple. My sisters and I are called the Norns. We were the goddesses of Past, Present and Future. I was the Past, but my sisters didn't like me very much. After a quarrel they sealed me in the past and banished me to an ash tree and chained me there. I, a goddess, was reduced to a fairy. I spent years in the Forest of Frost until you came along and supplied me with the tools to escape. Remember the Hazel branch?" she asked him.

He tried to remember that day and could vaguely remember something about a hazel tree.

"Well, the leafless hazel tree was one of the most poisonous existences in the Fae world second only to iron. The sap I had collected from the branch enabled me to poison the ash tree and to remove my shackles." She held up a necklace of simple design and made of iron, if his eyes didn't betray him.

"Though the seal did prove to be rather annoying, I soon found a loophole. Someone of Fae blood must be imprisoned here for anyone to escape. Since you made it into the Fae world you must either be of Fae blood or be connected to the Fae through some artifact. The bowstave I enchanted for you increased that connection either way so you were the key to my escape. To ensure you were truly a good replacement for me, I used my own blood to create a bond between us. Remember the meat I gave you? That was a part of my flesh, to turn a small part of you into a fae." She clasped her dress and gave Shirou a shallow curtsy. "Thank you, Shirou for your selfless act of sacrifice. I will never forget your heroism."

With that, she looked at the ox-sized dog and gave it an impatient look. "Are you satisfied now, Gellert?"

The dog, called Gellert, sighed, or the canine variety of a sigh, and returned The Woman Called Wyrda's gaze. "I believe you were supposed to explain where he is now, My Lady."

The Woman Called Wyrda growled at the correction and looked back to Shirou. "It seems my servant thinks he can do a better job than I can. With that in mind, he can explain the rest of your situation in my stead. Goodbye, Little Shirou." with those final words, she disappeared.

The dogs gave off another canine sigh and decided to sit down on its hindquarters. Though it just made Shirou more uncomfortable since it seemed as if the giant wolf-like dog looked even larger in height. The intense, murderous stare it had seemed to disappear as well now that she was gone though. Perhaps it only saw him as a threat when his mistress was around.

"In the absence of My Lady, I will now explain your circumstances to you. My Lady brought you back approximately one-thousand five-hundred years in the past to the place of her sealing. As she would not have been able to escape her prison without another Fae or Fae-halfbreed, she chose you to be her stand-in. We are currently in the south-east parts of what will be called England and the year is 487." It spoke in a dull voice, though with a hint of empathy. He sounded a bit like a tourist guide who knew the tourists were getting scammed, but hadn't developed the hide thick enough to ignore it.

Shirou on the other hand was growing more and more furious by the second. His headache had returned with a vengeance and it took all his might not to lash out at the werewolf-like dog. He was quite sure he wouldn't survive the consequence of such an action.

"Why are you doing this?" he finally asked, despair heavy in his chest. The dog noticed his state and was quiet for a few moments.

"Sometimes, we don't know why we do things. All I know is that it doesn't matter if it's humans or spirits, no living thing can survive loneliness. If you spend your life in darkness and you finally see a slight sliver of light then you will do everything in you power to keep that light, even of you find yourself doing things you'd never would have thought you could before. My Lady is my light, in time I'm sure you'll find your own." As if realizing it had said too much, it suddenly stood and prepared to leave. It pointed with its paw along creek.

"If you follow the creek you'll find a small village close to the sea. Perhaps you'll be able to start a life there. A kingdom will always need its fishermen." As soon as it had said those words it took off, its powerful legs catapulting it through the air and into the thick forest. Even when it had disappeared, Shirou could hear the trees breaking as the behemoth thundered through the woods.

He sat down on the same rock The Woman Called Wyrda had sat on. His head was just a jumble of thoughts all trying to find it way on top. He was in England? He traveled back in time to the fifth century? Wyrda was a Goddess? All of it was too much for a third-rate magus who had just begun his second decade of living.

He must have sat there for at least an hour before he decided to do something about his fate. Sitting in a forest and sobbing wasn't going to change anything. Planning and action was the only solution. But before that he needed to eat and rest. He wasn't going to die before he had a chance to do anything. Standing up and using the staff as a walking stick again, he made his along the creek.

It took him almost two hours before he reached the village. By then the forest had dwindled down to reveal fields of grass and large rock formations. The wind blew even stronger here than in the forest and he wrapped his school jacket closer around his body to preserve heat. The wind was obviously from the sea as it was perhaps two-hundred meters away from the village with only a few trees between the sea and the humans.

Walking into the village he was shocked by the bareness of it. The houses were gray and made of wood, the fences were in desperate need of repair and the two only large buildings showed signs of fire damage. There were currently no one in the street and the only living thing visible was a donkey strapped to a wagon filled with wooden barrels. It was outside the second largest building and judging by the design and the sound coming from it, it was the tavern of the village.

Limping towards the tavern, he entered the house.

Loud arguments were the only thing he heard. From left to right, it was just a never-ending barrage of voices arguing about something he couldn't make out. The people of the tavern were not quite what he had expected though. His image of the medieval people was that they were dirty and didn't know how to dress and act, but from what he could see here it didn't quite seem to be true.

Everyone wore a full wardrobe. Pants, shirt or tunic, some sort of cloak that covered their upper body, boots and hat appeared to be the norm for men while the women seemed to favour a dress which covered their entire body though some left their lower arms revealed.

Likewise their language did not seem too different than normal English. Sure it did have a strange accent and some words he didn't know what they meant despite Kiritsugu having taught him advanced English. But he could understand most of what was being said if it weren't for the fact that everything was so damned loud.

As if they had heard his desire for silence, the entire room stopped yelling. No he could finally hear what they were talking about. A voice on the other side of the room spoke, the male owner of it was probably used to speaking to large crowds as his voice boomed over the heads of the other tavern goers.

"I know what I'm asking is a lot, but I'm not asking you for my sake. I'm asking for yours! In a few weeks the Saxons will land and they will put every village in Albion to the torch. This village will only be the first step on their march of war and if the brittanian people are to survive this invasion then we must stand and fight. Running away without a fight will only serve as our doom in the long run," the man spoke.

Unlike the rest of the villagers, this man was different. He didn't wear normal clothes like the rest of the town. Instead he wore leather armour and a thick fur cloak. His black beard reached his chest and it was peppered with gray. His hair had suffered the same fate in the struggle against time. At his hip was a sword, a bastard sword that had seen its fair share of battle.

A villager, most likely the mayor or someone of similar position, spoke up against him. "Do you even realize _what_ it is you're asking for? We are a small fishing village; we barely have fifty people in total. To ask us to give you ten soldiers, all youths, is simply too much. We have seven children in the village right now, the rest died in the roman wars. We cannot hope to meet your demands," he spoke with desperation. Most likely there was a punishment for those who could not supply their lords with soldiers.

The soldier nodded before he continued; "I understand your plight, Baron Distray. That is why the Duke has given the lords and ladies of his land several options in the hopes that you would agree to his call-for-arms." He brought out a scroll from his armour and started reading from it. "For every knight supplied fully armed, seven soldiers will be wiped from the village's debt. For every Man-at-arms supplied fully armed, six soldiers will wiped from the village's debt. For every archer supplied fully trained, four soldiers will be wiped from your debt. As the duke understands the time needed to find the men for the debt to be paid, he has graciously given you a week to find the men needed." He stopped and looked to the Baron who had protested earlier.

The baron was pale in the face and stammered at first. "Sir Ludvig, as I said earlier, most of our men are old and sick. The only Man-at-arms we have is Robin of Blackbay and while he is eager to get back into battle, we don't have any other knight or archer who could help us fill our quota. We were hit by the Saxons too hard in the first wave and we have barely begun to recover from our losses. Surely you must understand, your son…"

"Hold your tongue, Distray!" The man roared. "My son has nothing to do with this and you would do well to avoid further mentioning him in my presence. I shall be back in a week to collect the men. For now I have to inform the rest of the villages near the coast." The man took long strides out of the hall and the floor creaked at every step. The crowd parted as the soldier passed through them; as if they were afraid he would cut them down with his sword if they didn't.

When he passed Shirou however, he faltered. He stopped and stared at Shirou as if he was some kind of strange new animal at the zoo and was trying to determine what kind of animal he was. When he finally couldn't figure it out he left through the open door and slammed the door behind him.

The entire tavern was quiet now. The man's announcement had put an end to the yelling and everyone seemed focused on how to survive the coming invasion. Shirou for the most part was too exhausted to think about it. He hadn't even for a long time it felt and he needed to get some sleep too.

He walked up to the medieval bar disk and started talking to the owner.

"Um, hello?" Now that he was here, he had no idea what to say. The owner looked down at him and frowned when he saw his face.

"Yeah?" he asked back.

"Well, could I get some food?" What kind of food did they eat? What kind of money did they use? How did the system around here work? Could he get arrested for vagrancy? All these thoughts suddenly erupted in his head as he froze.

The owner didn't seem to notice, but instead just looked at him. "You got the money to pay for it?"

Shirou's silence was apparently all the answer he needed.

The man sighed and ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Listen lad, Ah can't just give you the food without paying for it. If Ah did then I would lose me tavern. Sorry, but Ah can't help there." He said. "Though if you catch me one of them wee hares or birds, Ah wouldn't mind cooking it for you," the man said gently.

Shirou looked down, crestfallen but understood the principle behind it. He had been naïve to think he would get food for free, just like he had been naïve to think Wyrda had helped for free. He had to learn to read people better.

On the other hand, if he could catch an animal he could at least cook it here. The problem would be hunting it. He didn't have the prana to trace an arrow in his current condition. If he could rest for a while he could generate enough prana to trace a few weapons, but he couldn't perform a single spell right now. He turned back to the owner of the tavern and steeled himself for the answer.

"Do you think I could rest her for a few hours? I'm kind of tired and I really need to get some sleep," he asked the owner, this time putting all his hopes on this last chance.

"Sure, there's a bench in that corner with some blankets…" he said while pointing to the corner near the fireplace. "… and there's a pillow beneath the bench. Ah'll be closing shop after dusk so you have until then to get some shuteye, lad. Ah'll wake you up before Ah close." Then he turned to the wall and started cleaning mugs used for ale.

Shirou tanked the man and made it sluggishly to the wooden bench. It was made in the most primitive of way. Someone had chopped a log in two and added for legs to it, but right now it looked a heaven to weary Japanese lost in time.


	3. The Warg

_Archer of Black_

_Chapter 3: The Warg_

**So this is Chapter 3 of Archer of Black. Before I start the chapter I just want to address some issues in the story. As some of you know and most of you may or may not know King Arthur popped up as a legend in the 12th century _Historia Regum Britanniae._ However, King Arthur was a leader in the fifth or sixth century. As such, a lot of the stories of the Knights of the Round Table will have inconsistences about the terms and objects used. The titles of nobility such as Baron, Duke and Earl were not completely established in the early medieval ages, but were later incorporated into the Arthurian legend during the 12th century.**

**In order to make some kind of sense in this pick-and-mix of medieval terms I decided to establish some kind of basis. Therefore the peerage used will be that of the 12th century and the same goes for weapons, armies and all the other stuff where it clashes with real life, it simply for the sake of simplicity. The Monetary system used will be the Copper/Silver/Gold. At first I wanted to use Pence/Shilling/Pound, but it was so weird to write them considering they hadn't even been invented yet. It was hell trying to find some kind of coinage that worked, but it seemed like there was problem in medieval Britannia due to the fact that Rome had left it and they were stuck in a monetary pinch and as a result didn't have a clear monetary system. So I will be using the current value of gold and make 1 Gold= 80 Silver= 6000 Copper. So 1 Silver= 80 Copper. It's not ideal, but after spending hours looking for a good coinage I finally gave up and just went with this.**

**Otherwise I don't really have a lot to say about the matter. It will take place in the 5th century, but will use 12th century terms in most situations.**

**As for the village of Blackbay: It is near the sea in the county of Sussex, just a few miles south-west of Hastings. There will be more information about it when I progress the story, but I simply wanted you to know the geographical status of where Shirou is. However keep in mind I'm not a citizen of the UK so there will be errors in geography. Any professors of history can tell you I'm not the most accurate person when it comes to historical events. Or modern events. or future events. Let us just say I'm not very good with events in general.**

**As for the Norn sisters and the strife between them; I made the argument about them up. I simply wanted a goddess from the northern religions who was related to the past and Urd was an interesting character. I changed her name to Wyrda because Urd sounded too Scandinavian and I wanted her name to sound a little fae-ish. I also wanted to make it slightly harder to find out who she was even if it wasn't that hard at all. She is going to be an antagonist, but not the only one. She'll appear in the next arc, but in the immediate future she isn't going to matter at all.**

**Another issue is the OCs. Since this is a timetravel story there will be OCs in it. Pretty hard considering there are only a few people who were mentioned in the visual novel and anime. The Knights of the Round Table are seen in other games, but I haven't played them. Therefore I'm going to do my best to keep them in character, but be ready for a few OCs to make it in the story.**

**And if it wasn't obvious in the previous text then Shirou is in Saber's time period. He's going to meet her, but we're not there yet.**

**One reviewer also wrote something interesting. He said that in fate/extra Archer (EMIYA) was seen using a sniper while still Emiya Shirou. Also his room has several rifles and modern firearms hanging on the walls showing that he can in fact use modern firearms. I'm going to be honest here… I had no idea. I wanted to make it so Shirou couldn't just trace a RPG and slaughter anyone in his path, especially since it's the medieval ages and the most advanced weapon is the bow. I made up the theory of him being unable to use the weapons because Kiritsugu had a similar condition where he couldn't do any repairs on a machine because of his origins.**

**Regardless, I was wrong, but I'm not going to change it. Shirou was raised by the Magus Killer and should have seen lots of weapons that could destroy entire armies if traced in enough quantity. It would make him steamroll every opponent he faced and I don't want that. I hate Gary Stues; I have hated them ever since I tried reading My Immortal. I felt so dirty I had to cry myself to sleep afterwards. It was just so awful. I felt like someone had taken a rusty nail and shoved it through my ear and into my brain and then stirred it around to inflict as much damage as possible. I don't know if it was a crack fic or not, all I know is I never want to read anything that uses the words "posers" or "Goff" ever again. Oh god, the grammar! Somebody, please look at the grammar!**

**I wonder if I can get myself a lobotomy…**

* * *

**AOB**

When Shirou woke up he was being shaken rather roughly. He groaned at the annoyance and was about to tell the aggressor to stop it, when he opened his eyes and took in the environment.

He was in a dark room; the only sources of light were the candles in the chandelier and the fire in the fireplace. The walls were made of thick wooden logs stacked on top of each other and the roof was made of uneven boards. The floor was similarly made from wooden boards, but at least they were even, although they were rather worn down and dirty.

The man shaking him was a man with a balding head dressed in a tunic and loose trousers. He had a belt with a dagger hanging from it. He had a grim expression on his face, one that made Shirou hope it wasn't because of him.

Then he remembered what had happened the day before and it all came crashing down on him. He bolted of the bed he had made on the wooden bench and sat up, only to wince for the fifty-eleventh time as his bones and wounds screamed at him to stop moving. Reaching out for a chair, he used it to support his weight. Doing a quick Structural Analysis on his body he found out his exact condition.

Most of the fractures had healed, leaving only the more severe ones and the broken bones left. The infected wounds had not healed due to the bacteria in the wounds needing to be removed first. If he continued using healing spells he might be able to remove the infection and close the wound, but with his current stores of prana it was be a waste of magecraft. If he could clean and dress the wounds he could do it without magic and save prana for more serious matters.

"You okay there, laddie? Ah don't want no corpses in me tavern, you hear?" the tall man said with a gruff voice. The statement may have sounded rude, but the expression on his face said otherwise.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, no need to worry." He said as he sat up, only to wince when his still pulverized ribs screamed in protest. "Where am I exactly?" Shirou asked the man. First step in making a plan was knowing the geography, Kiritsugu had said.

The man looked at him like he was stupid before shrugging. "You're in the village of Blackbay, lad, the finest fishing village in all of Britannia." The tavern owner said. "Though Ah don't think we'll be here for long now that the Saxons are coming, bloody wankers the lot of 'em." He said under his breath, not knowing Shirou could hear him.

"And where in Britannia is Blackbay village?" he asked, trying to get as much information from the man as he could. Information was the most important thing when it came to planning after all.

"We're in the south-eastern part of Britannia, laddie. The most south-eastern part possible in fact; it's why people are so afraid now that an invasion is coming. This place will be the first place the Saxons strike."

"I…see." Shirou answered.

So he was in the south-eastern parts of England and the Saxons were about to launch an invasion. Did that mean it was after the retreat of the roman army? He should have paid better attention to those history channel programs. For once in his life he was cursing the fact that he had wanted to watch those cooking shows back home. His cooking was better than Kiritsugu's thanks to it, but damn it he needed to know more things about the middle ages now.

"So you're not from around here kid? Where did you come from?" the owner asked.

Shirou chuckled, a low and dark laugh that had no place coming from a fourteen year old. "Well, I don't know exactly. All I remember is being kidnapped by a Fae." He stopped to remember the specifics. "And a dog… not that I expect you to believe me."

The man pondered on what he said before he decided something in his head. "Alright then lad, Ah believe you. Though if you want some friendly advice; try to hide your face. Now that the Saxons are coming we are finding their spies crawling all over our settlements. Ah can tell you aren't Saxon, but some of the more inexperienced lads might try to string you up." He stood back up from the chair he had been sitting on. "Now Ah have to close up shop, but Ah couldn't help but notice you don't seem to have that much stuff with you. Don't you have any clothes besides that?"

"No, but I'll be fine. I'll make a fire during the night and get to work during the day. It probably won't be that cold." He said, confident in his survival skills honed through years of training with his father.

"Sorry to let you down laddie, but you won't survive the night. The nights have been growing colder over the years and it almost winter too. Those clothes of yours won't keep you warm enough. Wait here." The bald man said as he went into the back room. He came out a few minutes later.

He held up an old dusty piece of cloth. "It's an old cloak Ah used to wear years ago. Ah use it to cover me donkey out front during the rain, but you look like you need it more the she does."

Shirou took the cloak from the man and sure enough, it smelled like of donkey. Still it was better than just wearing the clothes he had now and it looked thick enough to preserve some heat if it really became cold at night. Maybe not enough to keep him warm, but maybe enough to get him through the night. If he was lucky he might be able to make some kind of shelter, but if…

He was interrupted by the smell and sight of a loaf of bread. The man in front of him was holding a small loaf of bread, covered with seeds and it looked like it was going to become mouldy any day now.

The man holding the bread simply shrugged and said: "It was going to go bad soon so Ah figured you might as well eat it if nobody else will enjoy it. Now get out of me tavern, laddie! It's the baron's orders that no one is allowed to be in the tavern and the church during the night." He said, his voice regaining its gruff attitude towards the end.

Shirou hurried out of the building, not wanting to take advantage of the man's generosity too much. As soon as he got out however he was attacked by the freezing cold of the wind. This was too much for an autumn wind that was for sure. It was well below minus degrees and the wind didn't seem to make it any better. Looking out towards the ocean he could see the beach being slowly covered by ice. Quickly he wrapped the dull brown and smelly cloak around his body in a desperate attempt to preserve what little heat his tiny body had left. Flipping the hood over his head, he made his way towards the forest hoping that the trees would stop the winds from sucking all the warmth out of the air. His quarterstaff had still not disappeared thankfully; it most likely had at least another day to it. Using it to help him navigate in the dark, he was able to reach the forest without tripping even once.

Once in the forest he used what precious little od he had to trace a tent. It was a small tent, the one that required the least amount of prana to make. He quickly worked to set the tent up and by the end of it his hands were freezing cold. Jumping inside the tent, he quickly started wolfing down the loaf of bread he had received from the tavern owner. It was delicious after he had spent most of the day starving and it sated his hunger enough for him not to be bothered by it, enough for him to keep half of the loaf for the next day. Feeling more tired than anything else now, he used the cloak as a makeshift sleeping bag and tried to rest for the remainder of the night. Though it was easier said than done.

During the night he heard strange noises around him. Sticks breaking, trees falling, rocks shattering, all around him strange noises would sound. Though those weren't the scary ones.

It was the animal calls that were the scary ones.

Everyone knows the howl of a wolf, right? Now imagine; the howl of a wolf, only ten times as loud and accompanied by five other of the same volume. Scared yet? Well, add this; each howl came closer and closer each time it was heard. Still not scared? How about this then: howls came from all around him and were converging at his location. Still think he was exaggerating?

One was directly above him.

He could clearly see the silhouette on the side of the tent. It was not a wolf by any means beside the head. It stood on two legs, though it had a hunched back. The body was covered with fur even though he could not see what colour it was. The feet and hands had vicious claws inches long and the wolf-shaped head had an elongated snout filled with fangs unlike anything he had ever seen before.

It didn't move from the spot it stood on, but it did move its head back and forth the tent, sniffing it and trying to detect what it was. It must have stood there for thirty minutes before it left, unsure of what the brightly coloured object was and not willing to risk the possibility of being a foe.

Shirou let out a sigh of relief the moment it had disappeared and he couldn't hear their footsteps anymore. Slowly he poked his head out of the opening of the tent, shivering slightly when the cold met his head. Steeling himself for what he was about to do, he wrapped the cloak around himself once more. Using his staff to draw protective runes around his tent, he berated himself for his lack of caution.

Of course there would be phantasmal species in medieval England! How could he have missed such an obvious fact? He almost lost his life and if it hadn't one of the more cautious beasts who had found him first he would definitely have died. Having finished the circle of runes around his house, he crawled back into the tent, now at least he was sure it wouldn't be his own fault if he died.

**AOB**

Waking up covered in sweat and dirt was not a pleasant experience. It was easy to forget how important indoor plumbing and heating had become in the twentieth century, but now that he had no way to take a shower or keep warm he suddenly felt like he had taken a lot of things for granted.

Like food for example.

The loaf of bread the tavern owner gave him had sated his hunger, but when the sun appeared over the horizon he was once more hungry. He could still taste the somewhat dry loaf in his mouth and it watered at the thought of more food. He looked at the half he had saved from the night before and his stomach rumbled at the sight of it. It would be so easy to simply bite into it and devour the baked meal, but he knew he couldn't do it. The stale piece of bread was the only food he had and he had no home, no money and no idea what he was supposed to do. He was an fourteen year old boy stuck in the medieval ages without anyone he knew to help him. Yes, he did know magecraft, but that can only take you so far. He didn't even know the current era's stance on magic. Were they witch-burning fanatics or did they think magic was just a part of nature? Merlin was supposed to be a major magus in this age and people liked him. Although Morgan was also a magus and she was not loved at all.

His thoughts of the future were interrupted by the stinging infections in his wounds. He had to take care of those before he could ponder over matters far away in contrast.

Inspecting his wounds he grimaced at the sight of them. Yellow pus was leaking out of the deep cuts at a very slow rate, covering the nearby skin in the sticky liquid. While pus was a good thing since it meant his immune system was fighting the infection, if he didn't clean the wound properly the infection might spread and he would die from blood poisoning. He didn't really want to die like that, not before he could find a way to get back.

Since he didn't have any medicine to clean the wound with and he doubted the alcohol in the tavern was clean enough to use, he would have to resort to more primitive measures.

Water. Lots and lots of hot water.

Luckily he knew how to make that happen. He might not have the prana to trace continuously, but a single object was easy even when he was recovering. He traced a pot large enough to hold a few gallons and put it down on the ground. The next step was not as easy. Activating his magic crest he felt the abused circuits flare up in pain at the use of them. While he didn't have the reserves to call on water from a nearby spring, if he was careful he could collect the moisture in the air around him. Drop by drop, the water in the space around him converged in the pot and the water level rose by the minute. Thankfully the mystical properties of the forest had affected the temperature in it. Although the nights were below freezing, the days were warmer and the frost had thawed into the air. There was no shortage of water where he was.

The next step was less tricky and more exhausting. In order to boil the water to remove any bacteria, he would need to collect firewood and start a fire. If he was in top condition he could trace an axe and chop all he wanted, but right now he would be lucky if he could trace a small hatchet.

So that was what he did. After tracing the billhook, he went out and started cutting small branches at the bottom of the tree next to his tent. He couldn't use any real strength due to the broken ribs cutting into his abdominal muscles, but the weight of the hatchet and the edge made it easier to gather the wood. It didn't remove the stabbing pain every time he lifted the hatchet though.

Lighting the fire was easier. Starting a fire didn't require nearly as much prana as gathering water due to the difference in the elements so the burn in his circuits didn't feel as painful as when he was gathering water. It was keeping the fire going that was proving to be a challenge. The wind tried to extinguish the small campfire he had and the unstable pot looked like it was going to topple over every time a log collapsed after having been sufficiently incinerated. What would have taken fifteen minutes when he was healthy took instead two hours in his current state.

He made two pots filled with water. One was used to hold clean and hot water while the second one was used to boil the strips of clothing he had decided to use as bandages. His undershirt was the only white thing he owned and was probably the cleanest one as well so it was torn apart to cover his wounds instead. He didn't know how long it took to kill the bacteria so he kept them boiling for a while until he was certain the rags were sterile.

After that he started cleaning the wounds. Every time he poured water on the foul smelling injuries he had to bite back a scream and the clearing he was in suddenly echoed with the sound of his groans. It wasn't hot enough to give him any burns, but it was enough to make him feel the pain receptors flare up in response.

By the end of the day he had been able to clean and dress the wounds and he had even found a few berries to eat. In the end he had devoured the last of the bread without any regrets.

**AOB**

The wolf was under an oak tree, feeding on a squirrel it had found dead, frozen by the cold. The autumn air was not a concern for the large canine thanks to the black fur it wore. Right now it was eating as much as it possibly could, after all…

Winter was comi-

Whatever may have gone through the wolf's head was interrupted by the arrow going through its head at that exact same moment. The momentum of the arrow carried over into the wolf's body and carried it into the oak tree where the arrow stopped. The wolf body collapsed as it twitched in its death throes.

Shirou emerged from his hiding place just a few dozen meters away. He had laid the track of the dead squirrel this morning and had waited in the bushes for over two hours before that wolf arrived. The large predator weighed probably more than Shirou did and he doubted it would have let him go if he had been the prey instead. That was why he didn't hesitate to use his Fae bow to put it down, instead of the other bows that were more suited to hunting.

It had been three days since Shirou had arrived in the medieval era and he was finally beginning to recover his strength. The first day had been spent sleeping and eating the last of his bread. He had also cleaned his wounds, but he really didn't want to think about them. Seeing his wounds leak with yellow liquids didn't make him feel any better, it just made him want to vomit.

The second day he went down to the village. There he had fished for information and other useful trivia. Aside from having been one of the foremost trading villages, Blackbay village was nothing out of the ordinary. It had been hit the first and the hardest by the first Saxon invasion and had never been able to recover. They were a fishing village and as a result they had a severe lack of meat. Therefore they traded a lot of their fish for the meat and fur hunters and merchants would bring.

Of course who needs a hunter when Shirou is in town?

The latter half of the second day was spent hunting. By using runes to hide his scent and sound Shirou could stalk or hide from his prey better than any normal hunter could and by the end of the day he had caught a wolf and a deer.

The owner of the tavern, Rowland as he had introduced himself as, had been surprised when he showed him the deer as it was rare for the people of Blackbay to get a taste of it, but was even more impressed when shown the wolf. Apparently wolf and bear pelts were incredibly popular among the nobles and the price of the wolf was made even higher since they often attacked cattle. While a deer got you one silver, a wolf got you two. The reason was that if you treated the pelt for the foul smell that normally clung to the skin, you would have a cloak of thick fur that was apparently considered fashionable in court.

Of course this meant Shirou would have to hunt more wolves if he was to have any way to rely on hunting. Buying a house seemed to cost at least twenty silverand that was the cheapest Shirou could find. Not that he was planning to buy it; he wasn't going to waste his money on a rundown shack about to collapse in a village that was soon to be attacked. He had a better plan.

He walked to the dead wolf nailed to tree and dismissed the arrow holding it there. The carcass dropped to the ground like a ragdoll and he was able to see the damage the arrow had done.

At least they wouldn't need the head when they were skinning the poor beast.

By now he could at least use magic like before. His reinforcement was a little shoddy since he couldn't reinforce his still mending ribs and thighs, but the rest of the magecraft he knew was ready to go. He had been able to repair his clothes to a degree so the wind wouldn't blow through the like before and he had at last been able to wash the cloak he'd been given so it no longer smelled like ass, pun intended. With his school uniform and the dull brown cloak, he probably made quite a sight.

Back to the matter at hand though, this was the third wolf he caught today. Most likely from the same pack if they were this close to each other. The thing that bothered him was that they were so close to the village. Weren't wolves supposed to be afraid of humans? Yet they lived so close to them. It couldn't be natural behaviour, right?

Putting the matter aside for now, he decided to take care of the wolf. Reinforcing most of his body except his damaged bones, he heaved the large predator over his shoulder and carried it over to its two brethren on the primitive sled Shirou had made from branches he had found. He tied them together and started dragging the sled out of the forest and towards the village.

It took more effort than he had thought, but he managed to tough it out. The grassy fields made it easier to drag the wolves to his destination, but the muddy roads of Blackbay made it harder the last leg of the journey. Rowland sported a look of utter shock when he dragged in three wolves into the tavern though.

"Holy hell, lad! What the hell have you been doing since Ah last met you?" Rowland exclaimed when he saw the catch of the day. Two grey wolves and a black one.

"Oh you know, hunting and stuff. I was quite surprised at my luck though. I didn't think I would get three wolves in one day and still have time to bargain." He said as he dropped the sled. It slammed into the worn out wooden floor with a thud.

"Bargain? What do you need to bargain for?" Rowland asked with confusion clear on his face. Shirou was almost jumping with excitement at the surprise he was about to reveal to the bald man.

"Yesterday you said a wolf would get you two silvers each, right?" The man nodded. "Well, I have a plan to get even more. I noticed that there is a whole pack of wolves nearby and from what I can tell they have been going after your cattle because your fences can't hold them back. Most likely because you're afraid of whatever is living in the forest…" Rowland's face paled until he was afraid all the blood had left the man's skull. "So you can't go there and get the wood you need to repair the village. As a result, the entire village has been falling into a state of disrepair and trade has been slowing down. Am I right?"

Rowland sat down on a chair close to him and sighed. "Yeah, that's about right."

Shirou sat down opposite the old man. "How did it start? If you knew the beasts were in the forest you wouldn't settle here in the first place so does that mean they are an invasive species?" Rowland looked at him weird, obviously not understanding the meaning. "Someone brought them here?" Phantasmal species were invasive species? Oh how the mighty have fallen.

"Yeah, that's about right too. It all started when the Saxons attacked. Not only did they burn our docks and kill all our young men, but they brought something with them that night, something evil. We call 'em Wargs and are about as evil as you get. They're men who lost their reason and became monsters who mate with wolves. It's why the wolves have been moving closer to the village, they're being ordered to!" Rowland said, face red with rage.

"They're stronger than any man Ah've known. They came in here one night and tore me wife and son in half and threw me through the wall. I woke after they left and found me wife's and child's bones chewed up and spit out."

"Then why haven't you left? Or asked for help? Wouldn't the duke send the army?" Shirou asked Rowland, but the man shook his head.

"Whenever we try to leave the village we are attacked. The monsters wouldn't let their main source of food walk away. They have enough intelligence to leave the army alone and only attack the villagers. And do you really think we haven't tried to talk to the duke? Telling him was the first thing we tried. He sent a couple of soldiers called the Southern Lions, but they didn't find a thing. The wargs went into hiding as soon as they saw the duke's insignia. Now the man won't listen to us regardless of what we say." Rowland's tone was bitter and defeated.

"If you knew about the things then why didn't you tell me before I went into the forest?" Shirou said, a little suspicious.

"Ah didn't know you were gonna walk into the forest like that! Ah thought you were gonna sleep with the pigs like any sane traveller would."

Shirou could understand the man though, not that he had any plans of sleeping in a pigsty. To be trapped on all sides with nobody to help you was something he was intimately familiar with. His first memories were of walking through a sea of flames after all. If Kiritsugu helped him why couldn't Shirou help Rowland?

"That is why I want to bargain with you, Rowland." Shirou said with confidence.

Rowland looked at him with a confused expression. "What the hell do ya mean with bargaining?"

Shirou smiled. "What do you know about skinning wolves?" he said and pointed to his catch. Rowland scowled at his question.

"More than anyone else in Britannia. Why?" he responded.

"If a wolf can get you two silvers, imagine what a Warg, an enormous wolf the size of a man can get you." It was better left unsaid the amount going through Rowland's mind.

Rowlands face broke out into a smile after a few seconds. "Ah reckon it'd be a rather hefty sum, especially if word reached the court that the largest wolf pelt ever skinned was in Blackbay. Me thinks a noble would pay quite the pretty coin for such a pelt."

"And when was the last time the Saxons came here with the Wargs?" Shirou asked for clarification.

"Fifteen years ago, if me memory serves me well."

"Don't wolves reproduce rather often? As in they have pups every year? By now they should have a rather large population." He said to explain his idea.

Rowland frowned and his smile disappeared. "Ah think Ah see where you're going with this, laddie. It ain't going to work. Killing one or two of them might be possible if we work together and ambush the damn thing, but what you're talking about is insane."

Shirou was not going to let his determination waver. His father had let him take over the responsibilities of his dream. To leave the village alone in their time of need was unacceptable. So if the man's sense of revenge and greed weren't enough, he had to try something a bit more direct.

"Rowland, are you just going to let them kill you? Let them pick you off one at a time, like pigs for slaughter? Don't you remember that the Saxons are coming soon and with the Saxons from the sea and the Wargs in the forest there is no way you'll make it out alive. We need to get rid of one or we'll all die."

There was also the magical aspect of the Wargs. He had found a Phantasmal species; it didn't matter if it was on the lowest of scales of monstrous beasts, the magical ingredients he could harvest from those things were incredible. It might even be possible to use them to discover the magic Wyrda used.

"And how do you propose we go about killing a magical monster then? I don't suppose you have a weapon capable of killing something like a monster out of legends. Tell me, what bright idea do you have?" Rowland asked.

Shirou responded by calling a fire in his hands and holding it there.

"Magic."

Rowland eyes widened to the size of saucers and he gave a loud gulp.

"That's a good idea." He concluded.

Shirou smiled in agreement.

"I thought so too.

**AOB**

_Fourth day since Shirou's arrival_

"So tell me, how did you come across this magic of yours?" Rowland asked him the next day.

After Shirou had revealed his magecraft to him, Rowland had been too stunned to ask anything about it. He had just agreed to try and hunt the Wargs with Shirou and had started working on the pelts immediately afterwards. He had told Shirou to use the room upstairs of the tavern, despite the fact that it was against the baron's orders. Shirou had spent most of the night planning. He had taken a map of Blackbay and the surrounding forest and committed it to memory. Making notes of where the Warg encampment, or den, could be. The most advantageous field of engagement and the most disadvantageous, how to lure them to his stronghold and how to take them down. It wasn't until the sun was starting to go up that he finally decided to go to sleep.

Rowland had knocked on the door when he had gotten a few hours of sleep, according to his wristwatch. After that he had explained his plan to the tavern owner/pelt-skinner and he had reluctantly agreed to it.

"My dad taught it to me." Shirou answered swiftly. He was setting up the traps necessary for the plan. He did not have to the access to his father's preferred traps such as explosives and gas, but Shirou had spent a lot of time analysing various equipment in stores related to hunting. It might not be as effective in capturing the game as modern traps, but the basic theory was the same. Foot goes on platform, the jaws are pushed together and the leg is trapped. The results given might not be the same, but lethality was increased. He did feel bad about the methods he used, the pain the traps would cause, but this was the only possible way he could conjure up in such a short amount of time.

The Saxons were coming in a few weeks' time. By then the village would have had to evacuate if they were to survive, if they didn't then the Saxons would overwhelm the small community. The problem was that the Wargs would not let them leave the village. If they tried then they would ambush the villagers and if the numbers were right then the last time they attacked they were over twenty Wargs in the ambush. That was last year. Considering the fact that pups were usually left in the den when adult wolves went hunting and were guarded by a pair of adults, the real number of Wargs were probably closer to thirty.

If the attack on the village was comprised of twenty-five adults then Shirou would need some kind of equaliser to even the scales. And if having the Magus Killer as a father taught you anything then it was how to even the scales. Hence the primitive and very inhumane traps he had spent the morning creating. He was pretty sure PETA would kill him if they ever saw the things he was making.

At first glance it looked like a steel ring with a large circular platform in the middle. If you looked closely you could see the runes carved into the side of the ring. When the platform was pushed down by a paw or foot, the metal ring would snap together in a single straight line, slicing of whatever was pressing down on the platform. It was similar in design to the bear trap, but instead of holding the leg down, the leg would be cut off. Of course, monstrous Beasts have stronger skin and recovery abilities so he had included wind element runes and spells to increase the cutting power as well as to increase the force utilized. The entire trap was powered by magic since he had no idea how the manual bear trap worked so by using runes to increase the power used he could preserve his own prana for tracing the traps. He was hoping to make two hundred, but he could feel the strain on his circuits after only making fifty of the dangerous hunting tools.

The plan was to place the traps on the fields between the forest and the village. During the day he would hide them in the grass while marking their location on the map. Since they were traced he could make them disappear whenever he wanted to and with the quality he made them with they could stay functional for at least three days. Just enough time to set them out and draw them out…

"Really, your old man did? What was his name? Is he someone famous like Merlin or that witch Morgan?" Rowland asked once more.

"Not around here he's not. His name was Emi… Kiritsugu Emiya." He was still learning English customs and the titles of the land were not making it easy for him. His broken and incomplete English made it difficult to make himself understood. Rowland was one of the few people who had travelled to the continent and was thus used to meeting people with limited knowledge of the language, but the rest of the villagers had no such luck. Whenever he spoke to them he would have to repeat himself about three times before they got whatever it was he meant.

"Kirisu-what? What the bloody hell kind of name is that?" Rowland exclaimed. He had obviously never met someone with such a different name before.

Shirou huffed at the question; he had heard plenty of weird names since he had gotten here. The tavern goers used to tell each other myths and legends after a few glasses of ale passed their throats and some of the names of the heroes were ridiculous. Seriously, who called themselves Cú Chulainn? Or Diarmuid Ua Duibhne for that matter?

"Kiritsugu Emiya and it's a Japanese name. Japan is an island nation very far in the East." He decided to keep it simple. Trying to lie would just make the old man suspicious. Rowland was very intuitive that way.

"Right… Ah've been quiet 'til now, but what's your name, lad?" the tavern owner scratched his chin. True, until now he had been referring him as "Lad" or "Laddie". His name never came up in a conversation and Shirou never thought much about it.

"Shirou, Shirou Emiya." Short and simple to pronounce.

"Shroo-what now? Your names just get harder and harder to say. You're not making everythin' up just to make me look stupid, are you?"

Shirou sighed. "It's Shirou Emiya, Shi-rou Emi-Ya." It wasn't that hard to pronounce.

Rowland just shrugged. "Ah'll take your word for it, lad, but there ain't anyone here who's gonna be able to say your name right. Ah've been to the mainland couple o' times and Ah've heard loads o' names, but none as odd as yours." He said.

Shirou scowled, or ateenager's equivalent of a scowl and continued to tinker with his traps. If he continued the entire day he might be able to reach his quota. "So what? You've got weird names too!"

"Aye, indeed we do, lad. And the ones who have normal names never let us live it down!" He let out a boisterous laugh as he patted Shirou on the back. He stopped himself after the second pat and adopted a thinking expression. It did not suit him very well though.

"So what kind of magic can you do? Turn water to wine? If you can do that then Ah might have a job for you in the back. Some of me customers have been complaining about the beer and wine we've been getting lately. The lords and kings have been hogging all the good stuff for themselves and we've been getting what's left over from the war between them. Ah'm telling you, ah've drunk some bitter piss in me time, but the last batch made me weep." He said, a grimace appearing on his face when the thought of the beverage entered his mind.

Shirou stopped what he was and gave it an honest though. While saving the village was his top priority, making food and food-related articles was his forte. Once he was done with the traps he could take a look at the drinks and see what he could do. He did know a variety of spices that could dampen the taste of bitterness… it did call for further thought.

"My magic doesn't work like that. The thing is, I'm not very good at magic. I'm very limited in what magic I can do. I can manipulate the elements to a degree, enough to aid me in general combat and studies, but never in any direct manner. Most of my magic focuses on runes and something called projection, or creation magic. I can form my magic energy into objects like swords or arrows and then shape them into other forms." He explained what he could to the obviously confused non-practitioner.

"So… that's a no on the winemaking?" he asked.

Shirou smiled at the disappointed tone in his voice. "I'll see what I can do about it later after I'm done."

Rowland's smile lit up the room. "Atta boy, lad! Next time you bring in a wolf, Ah'll add an extra copper."

Shirou didn't mention that if the plan worked, he'd be paying in silvers rather than copper. Pehaps even in gold.

Those wargs were really large...

**AOB**

_The Next Day_

"You sure about this, lad? Ah'm sure Ah could come with you when Ah finished the town meeting. It wouldn't take that long. Give me an hour and we'll be in the forest faster than you can say salted pork." Rowland said with a worried scowl on his face. He had been wearing a scowl more often today than he had been the last days Shirou had known him.

"I'm sure. The town meeting could take hours if they decide this is a bad idea, not that I blame them. This plan is dangerous, especially for them." He answered. He picked up the dull brown and tattered cloak and wrapped it around himself. His clothes had been reinforced to be as hard as possible and he had sewn in runes in them to make them extra hard and to keep the heat in and his smell from giving him away. Likewise, the cloak was reinforced and enchanted to protect him to the best of its abilities.

"Ah'll make them understand. It's either fight today or get slaughtered tomorrow and Ah prefer to die on my feet rather than to be ripped to pieces and eaten like a deer." The large man said.

They had divided the next stage of the plan into two parts. Rowland would call for a town meeting in the tavern where he would tell the village of their plan and convince them to help in any way they could. From building walls around the village to picking up a pitchfork when the time came. As much as Shirou wanted to think he could handle the beastly wolves at a distance, not planning for the possibility of them reaching the village was folly. The village had to be prepared for the attack of the demi-wolves, if only to be prepared to run for it when the time came.

Shirou on the other hand would scout out the area. After having spent hours setting out the traps, he had been able to get some sleep to recover from the drain on his prana reserves. Now that he was rested somewhat, he had to find the den and scout out the pathways of the Warg-pack and their numbers. Although he hated going alone, he really couldn't risk anyone else to come with him. They would not be able to move as quietly as he could and they would not be able to defend themselves either. Shirou was not an expert of scouting, but he had enough knowledge of magecraft to bridge the gap somewhat.

"Just tell them it's not something they can hide or ignore. The danger is real and it's coming to get them unless we do something about it. They don't have to charge into the frontlines like warriors, or even fight at all. As long as they willing to help in any way the can I'm happy." Shirou said to his confident partner-in-crime.

"Just leave it to me, laddie. Once the meeting is finished, Ah'll start building those walls. Ah've got enough timber to build something good, if the rest of the village pitches in then we'll make Hadrian's Wall look like a picket fence!" where the old man's confidence came from Shirou had no idea, but he wasn't going to start shooting the man down. He needed all the steam he could get if he was to convince the villagers to help.

"Anyway, I have to go. The forest isn't going to scout itself." With that, he entered the forest.

Shirou would have liked to say he wasn't afraid. He would have liked to say he wasn't frightened at all by the noises in the forest, noises any forest would have had during the afternoon. He would have liked to say he didn't almost fire an arrow at the poor deer walking past a tree a few meters away. He would have liked saying all of these things.

Unfortunately he couldn't say those things without lying. Entering the forest before had never given him this kind of feeling, the kind of feeling where a single step could mean a painful and gory death. Before he had gone into the forest as a hunter, simply going after animals any human could encounter. Now he was scouting out the territory of an extreme dangerous monstrous beast, one who had been prowling the night devouring men and who most likely left its mark in the chapters of history. In this day and age, mankind was not on the top of the food chain. There were predators far more ferocious than he and they had the home field advantage.

He walked for hours, reaching parts of the forest he had never seen before. He took extra care to mark the trees he saw in order to find his way back. Kiritsugu had taught how to read the stars in case he was stuck in a third world country or lost at sea, but with the canopy as thick as it was in the deeper parts of the forest he doubted he could find his way back without climbing a tree and checking. He passed rivers with rundown bridges and boulders with ritualistic paintings on them. The paintings showed various scenarios of different legends and he recognised one of them, the story of Sigurd had been one of his favourite legends when researching the Fae and folklore. Though the more common name was Siegfried these days.

A branch was stepped on and he whirled around, letting lose an arrow with wind runes carved on it. The bodkin point arrow flew through the air faster than any other arrow normal bows could propel it and it entered a bush, disappearing form sight. He heard a noise beyond the shrub, the heavy `Thunk´ of the arrow nailing its target to a surface and the frantic shuffling of limbs as the victim tried to get loose from its predicament.

Shirou pulled out another arrow from the quiver he had bought from Rowland. He didn't trace the arrow since it would cost him precious prana, prana he would need to use if he was discovered by the predators lurking in these parts. He notched the arrow and walked towards the shuffling noise which was slowly becoming less frantic. As he broke through the hedge like formation of the shrubbery he saw what had been hit by his projectile.

A large wolf, larger than the ones he had killed so far was nailed to the ground by the arrow. The throat had been pierced so the predator was unable to make a sound despite being in clear agony from the fatal wound. The size of it was unreal. The wolves he had shot so far were large and even Rowland said they were huge by standards. This surpassed them all. It was probably as tall as he was when on all four and weighed several times more than he did. The jaws filled with fangs resembling knives more than teeth looked like they could crush his head in a single bite. The claws were likewise supersized and unnaturally deadly.

Wolves did not grow to these sizes in the wild. Not even in captivity in zoos where they could eat all they want were they able to grow this large. There was something more to this beast than just a healthy diet and it was obviously linked to the Wargs in the forest. The only question, how? How could Wargs enable wolves to grow into the behemoths like these? Was their presence enough to aid their natural growth? Had the bloodlines if the Wargs and the grey wolves of the area mixed into a hybrid species looking more like a dire wolf rather than a normal wolf? How had they survived in the forest for so long? The prey in the forest and the village was only able to sustain a fixed amount of predators and if all of them were large like this one then the amount of food necessary would increase as well. Bu he had seen no signs of the forest lacking wildlife and the deer he had let go in order to catch the wolves were plenty. How could the Wargs and the wolves survive and not eat all the prey around? When a large group of hunters gather in one spot they hunt the prey around them until they prey goes extinct or until the prey leaves. The Wargs had been around for fifteen years and had only been preying on the village maybe once a month according to Rowland. One or two humans a month were not enough to satisfy a large pack of wolves, especially not if the rest of the wolves/Wargs were this size. They would have to supplement their diet with the local wildlife such as deer, boar, rabbits and even bears to satisfy the ravenous hunger they had, but the forest was teeming with life and he had seen plenty of animals since his recent arrival to this time period. Nothing about the wolf made any biological sense. There had to be a magical underlying reason for the tremendous size.

Taking a look at his surroundings after he was done inspecting the animal, he was surprised at what he saw.

Wolves were like all animals in their subconscious: they liked taking the easy way out. If they found a freshly killed animal they would eat from the carcass instead of going out of their way to hunt new prey. If a deer found a pasture of grass and knew there was a pasture of even greener grass a few miles away, the deer would stay with the grass closer to it. In the wild every calorie counted and all animals were on low energy-mode unless an emergency required an explosive use. So it would only be natural for the animals to use the most cost-efficient ways to preserve their precious energy.

Which was why Shirou understood why the wolf he had just caught was following a trail.

Not just a trail as in it smelt the trail of an animal; it was following an actual physical trail. The path looked extremely well used and old. It was about three feet on breadth and had several paw prints on them of varying sizes. The wolf Shirou killed just now had been walking along the muddy trail, leaving giant prints in its wake. The thing that put him on edge however was something else. Even though it was enormous even by Rowland's standards, the paw left by this one was not the largest, but the second.

The largest prints were several inches larger and judging by the depth of the prints, it weighed more than the recently killed one too. Either that or the prints belonged to a Warg. A Warg stood on two legs and put more weight on its paws. Unlike a wolf who divided its mass on four limbs, Wargs divided its mass by two. Any paw prints left by Wargs would naturally look heavier than any wolf's, but it didn't make Shirou feel any better in confronting the damn thing. Just by looking at the impression on the ground he could tell it was a magical beast behind it. From the claws protruding further than they should, to the length between the strides, to the way the ground had been ripped open when the powerful legs and the claws tore the earth and roots apart. It wasn't the way a natural animal would travel. A normal animal would walk in a casual pace, leaving only minimal traces of its presence in its environment. The way the earth had been torn, the path being obvious to anyone who looked and the fact that it was frequently used showed that ordinary wildlife had not caused such tracks. Something which had nothing to fear in the forest had done this, something that knew it was on the top of the food chain.

And it was not afraid of leaving trails leading straight to its den because there wasn't a single being foolish enough to enter the home of a phantasmal species. At least not one capable of self-preservation or survival….

Getting off the path in case any of the wolf's relatives were on their way, he hid the carcass with branches and leaves before hiding its smell with runes. If the Wargs or the wolves noticed the corpse of their brethren then it would alert them to his presence, not something he would want when he didn't even know their exact numbers. Caution before action, that was something Kiritsugu had drilled into his thick skull before he died. Make sure no traces of your involvement remain if the job isn't over. One can never be too careful if the enemy is stronger than you in every way.

He finished the impromptu cover-up and followed the trail he had found, carefully avoiding getting too close to it. He hid behind bushes and trees in order to make sure he wasn't seen and always kept an eye on his surroundings in case one of the large wolves had decided to strike out on its own. His hands were shaking and he had to clench his fists on the bow and arrow he was holding in order to make sure he didn't drop them. Had he bit off more than he could chew? He had been talking about fighting a pack of phantasmal species just days of arriving to another time. Why had he done that? Anyone with a pair of eyes and a functional brain could tell he was in way over his head. A single Warg was large enough to kill him and rip him to pieces and here he was waltzing into a den full of them.

Despite knowing this he continued. He had no idea why he wanted to find the den and save the village. For some reason he just felt like he had to. In the deep silence of the forest he could hear the beating of his heart.

And the howls of a pack of wolves ahead of him.


	4. A Storm Is Brewing

_Archer of Black_

_Chapter 4: A storm is brewing _

**Chapter 4…**

**This is the longest story I have ever written. It's odd actually, the difference between a story I thought was an interesting concept to begin with and a story whose idea I actually found possible. I wrote several stories, but I never finished any of them, possibly because all I did was think of, what I thought was, a good idea. However after a few chapters I found the concept to be faulty from the beginning. It didn't fit into the universe of the canon and as a result I had to abandon it when I discovered the flaws in the story I was writing. It was kind of disappointing when I had to delete all of my previous stories when I realized they were complete failures. They weren't original or even good by any standards and I found myself writing clichés for the sake of clichés. `Oh, Harry Potter was abandoned at birth due to the Wrong-Boy-Who-lived cliché, Awesome!´ that kind of cliché was what I liked and as a result I wrote them into my stories all the time.**

**Now on the other hand I try to limit my use of tropes and clichés. Instead of writing a story with one chapter I found it to be a lot more exciting to write a single story with several chapters. It gives you more satisfaction to update a story with its fifth or sixth chapter instead of publishing a new fanfic all the time. Even now I have several ideas I want to write, but for the sake of quality I wrote more in the ones I already have going on. For example I have an idea for a HP/Skulduggery Pleasant crossover and a story for Fate Stay Night/ Dark Souls.**

**On that matter, have any of you played the game called dark souls? I found it to be incredibly… exhausting.**

**It's fun to play and all, but the difficulty is just so insanely hard. For those of you who have played it, I was just enjoying my day and fighting all the undead that came my way when all of a sudden an armoured boar came out of nowhere and totally fucked my game up. I didn't know what hit me, one moment I owned every single hollow soldier and rat who dared get in my way and the next I'm being ripped open by a living tank. Seriously, who designed that enemy? It was a freaking gamebreaker! Somebody nerf that damn thing! Nerf it!**

**As if that wasn't enough, when I got past it (I stabbed it in the butt) I was confronted by a freaking gargoyle that proceeded to pleasure itself with my corpse while its buddy started torching my body with its freaking flamebreath! I was like, what the hell?! Once I got past them I had to fight a bunch of lightning dragons that kept flying and stunning me with their lightning breath. Luckily they were dumb as Shinji Matou and kept throwing themselves down the cliff, but they were still annoying. I'm about to enter blightown so wish me luck! I heard it's pretty hard so I'm going to go and mentally prepare myself for the stroke I'm about to have.**

**As for why I'm mentioning Dark Souls is because of the gear I'm making for Shirou. It's mostly going to resemble the armour Archer wears, but I'm going to alter some of it. I saw some really interesting armour in Dark Souls and I just had to incorporate it into the story.**

**It appears I'm rambling once again. I have to say, writing down my thoughts in the AN is a great way to get rid of stress, but I suppose I have to get the real AN on the way now.**

**First of all: No, I'm not going to introduce real werewolves in the story. I have limited knowledge of the Nasuverse and I'd rather not screw it up by making up things I have no idea about. I'm on thin ice as it is.**

**Second: Shirou's magecraft. Shirou knows projection (Tracing) and reinforcement. He was about to learn alteration when Kiritsugu died and his lessons with besides projection were focused on runes, Formalcraft and alchemy. He knows very little on alteration and he is still trying to learn it even now in the middle ages. He knows basic elemental spells and healing spells, but he isn't very good at using them since they aren't his element. Furthermore, his martial arts are also in the works. He can't fight a full-grown man with just his skill, but coupled with magecraft and he can beat any normal human being. He hasn't developed his own style yet due to inexperience and his current style is pretty average.**

**Third: He won't be going around shooting noble phantasms like snowballs. He hasn't even seen any noble phantasms yet, with a few possible exceptions that he isn't aware of yet. He might have seen a few, but he doesn't know that yet. Most of what he's going to use are mystic codes or enchanted weapons. He might come across a few noble phantasms while he is in the Middle Ages, but they will be few and far apart.**

**Fourth: What weapon will Shirou use? Nota mystic code or noble phantasm, but the one he will be using for everyday use? Well, that's a surprise!**

**Fifth: I have no idea what the name for Sussex was before the Saxons invaded so I decided to use the name Sussex for the part they were in for convenience sake. I do know however that England wasn't as cold as I described it. The only reason I made it colder than it should be was because of an overlaying reason in the story. It will become apparent further into the story, but that will take a while.**

* * *

**AOB**

The crowd was growing by the minute as all fifty inhabitants of Blackbay village poured into the tavern. The people walking into the worn down building were dressed the normal clothing in the area. Torn grey and brown clothes, hats that had long since lost their original shapes and had started resembling dirty hair more than anything else and filthy leather boots bought more than a decade ago which had been mended time and time again until none of the original leather was left. The people wearing the clothes looked little better. Scars covered the hands of both the men and the women, proof of living the life on the sea wielding hooks and net. The faces were grim and could have passed for being stone statues if it wasn't for the fact that the eyes were constantly flickering between the exit and the man in the stage.

These people had lived in Blackbay for decades, they had seen the toll the romans had taken on their village, they had lived through the invasion of the Saxons and they had survived the wargs slaughtering them in their sleep. They had more sea salt in their veins than blood, something the neighbouring villages had noted with fear in the past when conflicts between them were common.

And now he had to convince them to leave their homes and fight…

Rowland wasn't sure he had been given the easy part of the plan, but he knew he wasn't going to like what was going to happen next.

"Well, Ah've never been one to give big speeches to crowds. Ah've usually let some other poor fool take that part. How are you all doing tonight?" He asked the village who had somehow managed to fit inside the tavern without much trouble.

The crowd gave a variety of responses. Some of the older folk gave complaints about their family, about how their step-son or daughters were useless while the younger generation seethed at the critique. Some of the fishermen gave a loud laugh and boasted of today's catch while the other fishermen grumbled about bad luck and how some people should have known better than to cheat. The children ignored the older villagers and gave simple innocent responses, not knowing what they were supposed to say.

"That's good! Haha, you know Robert is going to beat you next time you go out to sea, don't you?" Rowland said to the boastful fishermen holding a large fish in his hands, supposedly the largest fish caught in the southern sea. The man simply gave another fisherman, probably Robert, a smug grin at the challenge and was rewarded glare from the loser of the day.

A woman stood up from the chair she was sitting on and gave Rowland a small glare. "So what is all this about? Some of us have children to take care of and you call us into the tavern like you're the Viscount of Sussex." The woman who called him out said with a frown on her face. She was short and pudgy, carrying a child on her hip.

Lia, Baron Charles Distray's wife, had never liked him. It might have been because he had gotten her drunk enough on brittanian ale to dance on the table that one night, but it wasn't his fault. She should know her own limits, the lightweight that she is. The brat had never forgiven him for humiliating her in front of the neighbouring baron's wife. Ever since then she had taken every opportunity to insult him and his tavern in front of the village.

It didn't help that the only person in the land who hated him more than her was the baron himself.

"Lia Distray, Ah didn't see you there! It's been too long, lass! Tell me, how does it feel to be a mother now that you finally managed to carry a child?" he asked her. The baron's inability was quite well-known these days. The man was fifty years old, older than Rowland even. Despite that he had not been able to father any heirs for a long time. There had been rumours that the Saxons had done more than torture him in the last invasion. His wife had not been able to carry a child and when she died people thought the baron would have a child with his new wife soon, but it had taken more than a decade before the woman was with child.

The noblewoman looked appalled at the question. "I'll have you know Rowland, I have been ready for a child for ages. However my husband dear has been simply too preoccupied with the consequences of the invasion. Not that you would know anything about that would you? Your son didn't even have the chance to contribute." She glared at him, as if he would be affected by the venom in her eyes or her words.

"You mean he couldn't get his steel hard enough to pierce you?" he responded. The tavern broke out into laughter at the barb he had sent her way. "And don't give me any of that shit about duties and what else he was too busy with; there is no excuse for a man not capable of putting a child in his wife's belly, or at least not one incapable of trying."

Lia didn't respond to his insults, obviously knowing this was one battle she would not win. Rowland let her retreat to her chair, his anger at the mentioning of his family still burning fiercely in his heart. He wanted to continue, to humiliate her in front of the village, but he had more important things to do. If the lad came back and he had failed to convince the village because of his scuffle with the baron Distray's wife he would be in a heap of trouble. He didn't want to let the lad's hard work go to waste, not when it could mean the survival of the village.

But how was he supposed to tell them? He couldn't just blurt it out and let them deal with it. He had to get them into the mood for it first, to make them more agreeable to it. That was easier said than done. He had never liked speeches; he never had the talent or the patience for it. He had spent his time as a merchant and traded his wares then left in search of better wares to trade. All he could do was fall back to what he knew.

"Before Ah start Ah want to tell you a few things about what has been happening the last you days. Ah'm sure you remember the lad whose been coming in here the last few days, the lad with red hair and dark skin?" He asked the villagers. Most of them nodded in recognition; in a small community like Blackbay it would have been hard not to remember such a distinct face. Red hair and tanned skin was not a common feature in brittania even during the days of the Roman Empire and neither were golden-brown eyes the lad had. The fact that his English was broken and oddly twisted made him stand out even more than the fact that he couldn't understand even a single word of Latin, a language practiced by all the roman provinces. He had appeared a few days ago, injured and starving, but after just a day later he was all better, as if from magic. He had seen lots of things, but that had been a strange experience even by his standards.

Lia frowned at his question, not liking the way he started apparently. "Yes, we know who you're talking about. What of it, has he killed himself already? He's been spending a lot of time with the wolves, hasn't he?"

"No, he hasn't gotten himself killed you damn harpy. If you could keep quiet for two bloody moments so that Ah could explain you would know how he is these days!" He retorted in response to her insults at the lad. "Why are you here anyway, Lia, if your husband isn't? Have you nagged him till he finally kicked the bucket? Or did he kick you out when he found out the child you carry isn't his?"

"How dare you accuse me of that? I have been a supporting wife and mother and the child I bore is none other than the baron's, the fact that I'm here when my beloved isn't is merely proof that he trusts me with matters regarding his presence." She finished with what she probably though was an elegant wave of her hand, but when one accounted for the child on her hip and the mud on her clothes it merely looked presumptuous. The knowledge of being married to a nobleman, no matter how low the title of baron may be, had obviously gone to the woman's head. Not that he could blame her for it, considering the times and circumstances the feeling of being even slightly better off than the person next to you was a comfort better than even the strongest of ale.

Still it did not change the situation at hand and the measures necessary.

"Whether or not the brat is his or not doesn't change the fact he is needed at the moment. Where is he?" Rowland asked the woman who was surprised at his tone. It wasn't the voice he would use to insult or trade barbs with, just a low growling that sent her into a frightened stutter. The older generations of the tavern recognized his tone, his words bringing back memories from harsher times, simpler times. The younger ones in the tavern however were as surprised as Lia when he spoke. "Don't make me ask you again, woman."

Lia held the child I her arms, as if the boy who was barely a year old would defend her against the owner of the tavern. "You wouldn't dare strike me, Rowland. When my husband hears of your threats, he'll have your head on a spike…" she would have continued if Rowland hadn't taken a menacing step towards her.

"Ah wasn't making any threats, _Baroness_, Ah was giving you a warning. Where is Charles?" His voice thundered across the room, shaking those too young to have heard his anger before. Lia had never seen him angry before in her life, she had never managed to rile him up to the point of fury. Even now his anger was not directed at her, but at the loss of time her deflection meant.

As a result of his raised voice and the threat of bodily harm, Lia lost the pompous stance her station had previously given her and she shrank, holding her baby close to her chest in comfort. "He's at home in bed. The news Sir Ludvig brought were too great for his heart and the healer does not think he'll make it past the month. I'm here in his stead."

Rowland relaxed and pondered over what the baroness had said. Was it a good thing Charles was dying or was it just bad news? If Charles had been here he might have opposed the plan with fervour, knowing he, as the baron of Hastings, was the only one the wargs would allow to leave before the invasion and any attempts to eradicate them would put him in harm's way. Lia on the other would want to survive the invasion and the only way to do so would be to leave the village and hide from the initial attack.

On the other hand, if Lia had truly let her position go to her head then she might think her life was worth more to the duke than it actually was. He didn't think the woman he had seen grow up from a little lass bruising her knees while fighting the boys of the village would ever lose her sense of reality like that, but he barely knew the lady anymore. He couldn't say for certain that she would actually care about the village enough to help them against the threat of extinction at the risk of her own life and the life of her child. The wargs might see her as someone of importance and let her leave the village, or their feral minds might just see her as another bag of meat trying to escape their little farm. Whatever the case may be, it didn't change the fact that Lia was now acting baroness of Hastings.

"If that is true…" He looked at Lia to confirm what she was she said was true and she nodded hastily, not in the mood for another furious shouting. "…Then it means that Lia Distray is now the acting Baroness of Hastings and she will be acknowledged as such until the viscount deigns her son to be the baron. Understood?" The tavern had been quiet until he addressed the people within and a loud chorus of "Aye!" responded.

"Moving on, Ah was talking about the lad, wasn't Ah? Right, after he recovered from whatever it was that had happened to him, he went into the forest as the baroness told us. When he came back he brought with him wolves, dead wolves." The tavern which had been somewhat quiet until now lost all sound at the mentioning of the beasts of the forest. Out of surprise, hatred or simple fear was unknown, but what mattered was that he had the undivided attention of all of Blackbay at this point. There wasn't a human around who wasn't listening with trepidation or spiteful joy.

"Apparently he was a pretty good hunter because the wolves he caught weren't the ones we see around the cattle we have. These wolves were larger than that, much larger than the wolves that come to the village. Ah think they were the pups of the wargs." He said and the only sound coming from the villagers was the crying of the baron's boy.

"He brought them back for me to skin, but let me tell you Ah had never seen a beast like that in my whole damn life. Looked more like a bear than wolf, Ah tell you. The leather was thicker too, much thicker than a damn grey wolf. It was definitely warg-spawn and the lad brought back three of them in a single day, not a single scratch on him. Ah couldn't believe it, not after what Ah've seen, not after what we've been through. Heh, the merchant Ah sold the pelts to didn't believe his eyes, Ah was actually able to barter with him for twice the price they were actually worth, hahahaha!" His laughter echoed throughout the tavern once more and the people around him joined in. The only merchants who travelled to this part of the land were the greedy ones who didn't mind the biting cold. Cheating one of them for another pouch of silver was a joy to them all.

"Anyway, I asked him how he had killed them and he told me how: Magic!" That stopped the laughter completely. Whether or not they believed him was up in the air, but he had them hooked. Wizards were a mysterious bunch and few were known and even less trusted. They knew not to trust a sorcerer; the rumours of Morgan the witch had travelled from Camelot in Wales and spread fear in the people who heard them. Merlin may have been associated with the king's court, but even he was known to trick the people around him for pleasure. Someone who could manipulate the elements and turn you into a frog was not someone to cross, even if that certain someone came in the form of a child.

"Are you serious, Rowland?" Geoffrey, the boastful fishermen said. He had put the fish down and was holding his shirt frantically at the news of the little strange child. When Rowland responded in the positive he let out a despairing whine. "What am I going to do now? I was the one who put peppers in the boy's water. He's going to kill me! Rowland, you have to do something. You're on good terms with him, he'll listen to you!"

Rowland remembered the incident with the spicy water. The lad had ordered a bowl of stew with roman spices and a mug of water, only the water had turned out to be spicier than the stew itself. Poor lad hadn't noticed that the water was the reason he had the stomach ache until the bowl was finished and he started gulping down the water like a man in a desert. Geoffrey had always been a prankster as a child and his age had only enabled him to pull off more expensive pranks. And now he was worried that the lad was going to kill him for it.

He really wished he had been able to take advantage of Geoffrey's idiocy beforehand, if only to teach the fool a lesson in how to treat his fellow tavern-goers.

"Don't worry about it, you bloody fool! He's not here to kill you, but Ah have half a mind to do it now that Ah know how you treat people in me tavern!" He told Geoffrey who had started shaking by now. "Honestly, you just keep getting dumber and dumber for each year Ah know you. Pretty soon you'll try to cheat the Fae just for couple of fishes to win against Robert, won't you?! Bloody fool!" The earlier tension disappeared and now the tavern was filled with laughter.

As Geoffrey calmed down, Lia stood back up. "So where is he? If it is important enough to warrant a town meeting like this then surely he would be here with us. Yet I don't see the foreigners face and you haven't even told us his name." She made a good point now that she wasn't looking down on him like she was the queen of Britannia.

"Uh, Ah don't know his name. He told me what it was once, but it was something weird and hard to say. Shroo, Sheira, Shaloo, Sh… Whatever, it was a stupid name anyway." He coughed into his hand to conceal his failure to remember the name and the villagers snickered. "As for the reason he isn't here is because a few days ago he came to me and told me he saw the wargs."

And just like that, the deathly tension was brought back down on them like someone had forced them to the bottom of the ocean.

"And he's not dead?" Lia continued, but one could tell she was holding the baby close to her chest, as if the close proximity to her would protect it from the dangers of the forest.

"No, in fact he's out there now, trying to find their den." He would never admit it, but he derived a secret pleasure from the shock on the faces of every villager present. Lia had the pale face, open mouth-reaction while Geoffrey had the less common eyes wide open, curl into a foetal position and whimper-reaction. Robert simply fainted and the entire tavern broke out into gasps of shock and thinks from the people who fainted. Lia, like always, recovered first and let loose a string of stuttering questions.

"Are you mad? Is he mad? Why on earth would anyone want to find their home? He'll be killed out there, they'll rip him to shreds and then they come for us. Is that what you want? Do you really want to join your family that badly, Rowland?!" she half-screamed, half-growled at him while holding the head of her son to her bosom.

The reactions of the rest of the village were pretty much the same. Furious yelling, intense crying, despaired screaming, all mixed into a jarring cacophony dangerously close to deafening him for good. He had to yell above the mass of people to make himself heard over the glaring noise of the villagers of Blackbay. No matter what happened, he would never again say Blackbay was a quiet village, not after this night was through.

"Would you bloody wankers shut it for one second so Ah can explain?!" His own thundering voice towered over the rest of the village, partially because he had prepared for it and took the spot on the stage where it was easiest to be heard and partially because his size enabled him to be as loud as he needed to be. The villagers started to quiet down until all he could hear was the angry mumbling of the people furthest away, those who hadn't seen him angry before and didn't feel as frightened as the ones who had been in close proximity when he had yelled at Lia before.

"Thank you for letting me explain why he is out there, risking his life for your sorry arses. As many of you know, the Saxon invasion is coming soon and this is most likely the place they'll choose to invade once more. If we don't leave, then we'll be killed by fifteen thousand Saxon coming to burn our homes and steal our valuables. But if too many of us try to leave then we'll be slaughtered like pigs trying to escape the slaughterhouse by the wargs." At this a few of the villagers started to grudgingly nod at his reasoning and a few lost the poison in their glares.

"In order to leave we have to deal with the wargs since Ah doubt a pack of wargs can compare to fifteen thousand Saxons with armour and weapons. The lad, or whatever his name is, came up with a plan to increase our chances of survival. Those of you who are willing to survive can help us, those of you want to die a sad and lonely death can leave now." Not a single person left. "Good, now Ah'm a bit lost on the details, but the plan is really simple. The lad, or the hunter or whatever you want to call him, is out there trying to find their lair. When he finds it, he is going to lay out a few traps in order to kill as many as possible. He will then return here to guard as a sentinel. When the wargs activate the traps they will attack the village in revenge. The lad has already set out hundreds of traps in the fields between the village and the forest and when they charge us they will be caught in the traps. While they are hurt by the traps he will shoot them with magic arrows and kill them from a difference. That is part one of the plan."

He spoke in monotone, as if he had rehearsed it all. In fact, the lad had rehearsed the entire plan with him in order to make the village understand how they could best help with their limited experience fighting.

"The second part is where we come in. Those of us who don't want to fight will jump in the boats and wait out at sea. If we lose the battle and die then the survivors will sail north, to Rye. The rest of us will stay here and arm ourselves with whatever we can find. We'll barricade ourselves in the village and let the lad kill from a distance. If they reach the village we'll hold them off until the lad can kill them with his bow." The plan had been simplified to an almost ridiculous degree in order to make the villagers understand it better. The lad had explained why the wargs would attack from the forest and charge them, he had explained why he would lay only a few traps in the den while the majority would be used on the fields, he had even explained what kind of arrows he would use to kill the beasts, but there wasn't any point in telling the people of Blackbay any of that. They wouldn't understand any of it and it would only make them more suspicious of his actions if they didn't understand his motives.

Looking around at the faces of the villagers he was not surprised at what he saw. He saw anger at being forced into the situation at hand, frustration at not knowing about it beforehand, fury at having to choose between their homes and their lives.

Strangely enough, none of their hostility was aimed at neither him nor the lad.

"If we stay and fight…" Geoffrey started. "…What are the chances we'll survive?"

"Hell if Ah know, Ah'm just as uncertain as you when it comes to odds. Can a single man kill a warg? Hell no! Can two men kill a warg? Probably not. Can three men kill a warg? Perhaps if they are lucky. Four men? Possibly. A village of fifty people with a sorcerer who can fight better than grown men? Ah'm certain we can eradicate them from our lands, but to think we can do it without anyone dying would just be bloody foolish. Ah'm not here to give you false hope, Ah'm here to make it through the year without being turned to wolf-feed by the wargs or a rotting corpse by the Saxons. What you do is up to you." He wasn't going to take responsibility for the village. The baron had that duty and he had failed it in order to keep his reputation. If the people wanted to survive they had to take it upon themselves to see that through.

He didn't want to fight the wargs or the Saxons, but he wasn't going to wait for the slaughter like a pig. If there was a chance he would be able to live through it by betting on the lad with magic, then he was going to bet on the lad with magic.

The villagers were whispering among themselves now, wondering what their neighbour or friend was going to do, if they were going to stay and fight or flee from the danger. He didn't blame them for that, it was normal to want to know what everybody else was doing so they wouldn't look like a coward or a maniac. They might have more salt than blood in their veins, but that didn't mean they liked to lose what little blood they had. It was a difficult choice, not one he wanted to force on them, but drastic measures had to be taken. If the village didn't want to save itself then it was doomed to begin with.

"Those of you who wish to flee can go home and pack your things. The attack will probably commence tomorrow so you'll have an entire day to pack. Those who want to fight can meet me by the gate; bring whatever weapons and tools you can find. We'll need them."

He left through the door, not looking back, not giving them a chance to ask him any questions.

Not giving them chance to panic from the fear.

Not giving them a chance to see his face ashen with fear.

**AOB**

He was by the gate and had already begun barricading the village from within. He hadn't thought much about how the village was built until now, but now that he was actually building onto it he noticed the little things. Blackbay was not a typical fishing village. It had originally been built a hundred years ago in a circular form and had focused on fishing and trading. As the trade with the mainland had blossomed, so had the village and building had been added. When the Saxons invaded however it had taken a heavy blow, one it still hadn't recovered from. Most of the buildings in the outer ring had been burnt down and only the buildings in the heart of Blackbay had survived the attack. When the rebuilding of the town had started they did not have the time to hire carpenters and had been forced to build houses next to each other for support, creating a linear path unlike any villages Rowland had ever seen before.

It wasn't that he hadn't noticed the way the village had been rebuilt, it was just the fact that he had never truly appreciated it before.

Had the village been circular he would have had to change the direction of the fences he was building, but since it was a straight line from start to finish he didn't need that. He could simply erect a fence one after another, faster than any normal village carpenter should have been able to.

Of course, it wasn't the impressive walls he had seen during his merchant days. Even if the entire village helped it would have been impossible to erect walls around the entire town in time for the attack. Instead he had made a simple fence with spikes protruding from it. It was sturdy enough to hold off a warg for a few minutes and any monster trying to ram it or climb it would be poked full of holes and bleed to death. It was inelegant, but as the lad had said; "If it looks stupid but it's working, it ain't not stupid." Wiser words had never been said.

"So need any help over there?" A voice spoke up from behind him. He turned and was surprised at the number of people behind him.

About twenty people had gathered behind him, all wielding some kind of farm equipment or tool. From pitchforks to hammers, fishing spears and scythes, axes and blades, all of them were armed and their expressions set in stony determination. The one who spoke up, Geoffrey, stood in front.

"Ah could use a hand in setting up the fences. Think you can handle it, lad?" Rowland said, his own weapon, a large axe he bought as a weapon against bandits long ago, strapped to his back.

Geoffrey grinned and picked up a sharpened pole and started nailing it to the spear. "I could probably build a fence better than the Wall of Hadrian if I wanted to."

Rowland laughed and the rest of the people joined in to help. "Ah hope your fighting is better than your building, if it's not then you might as well join the woman in the boats." The rest of the men joined in on the laughter.

Geoffrey lost his grin and started focusing on building the spiked fence instead. After a minute or so he turned to Rowland again. "How come we never tried this before? You know, the whole escaping by boat up north?"

Rowland stopped for a second, looked around to see the other villages to busy working to pay attention, and then turned to Geoffrey again. "We did, lad, when you were just a wee boy. We tried to take to the sea, but there weren't enough boats for all of us so none of us left and we stayed here fishing."

"But now we have enough boats to leave and instead we choose to stay?"

Rowland shrugged. "We have three boats and each boat can take ten people at most."

Geoffrey stopped what he was doling. "Wait…. But you said everyone could leave if they wanted…"

"I know what Ah said, boy and Ah meant it, but if you had the choice between letting the entire village die and letting half the village die, which would you choose?" Rowland said in a small growl.

Geoffrey paused and thought about it.

"How do we stop the rest from finding out? They might not want to help if they know you were lying to them"

"They already know, boy. They already know."

In the gathering of twenty men, not a single one of them thought they were going to survive the night.

**AOB**

Shirou had decided that he didn't like stalking monstrous beasts.

Stalking in general was a nerve-wracking experience, one he had little experience in at all. One had to be careful not to make too much sound, even if you wore runes that concealed the noises generated by your feet touching the ground. Keeping out of sight was even more important, if the prey saw you it would run away, or in the case of phantasmal species, run towards you and tear you into tiny little pieces.

It was most of all exhausting. He had left he village about five hours ago and he was still following the trail left by the wolf. He had been worried that he had gone the wrong way, but the scent of wolves growing stronger said otherwise. He was sure the wargs were around here somewhere, but he had no way of knowing how much longer it was. Even if he had brought food with him, which he hadn't in case the wargs could smell whatever sustenance he brought with him, he would still had been hungry from the pure energy he had spent walking.

Why couldn't they just make it easy for him? Were all magical beasts this annoying? He had heard tales of heroes fighting monsters and saving villages, but there had been no mention of the journey to the monster itself. In the legends it had been the hero, the monster, the damsel in distress and the ending. He hadn't even met the monster yet and he was already thinking the worst was over, that it was all downhill from here. He was actually kind of glad he hadn't traced any weapon yet aside from the arrows. The arrows were cheap and almost didn't take any prana to trace, but swords were another matter. He could trace hundreds of nameless blades without effort, but it didn't change the fact that his circuits had to activate completely for him to do that. Had he traced a sword in the beginning of the journey he would have been exhausted from the walk while having activated circuits on full alert for hours. The result would have been a mentally and physically exhausted Shirou wandering into the territory of the wargs. He didn't think it would have been such a good idea to make himself an easy target, but maybe the wargs would be too confused to take advantage of it.

Nevertheless he had some success at least. He could drink water since it didn't matter in the damp forest if he spilled some on the ground. He had also seen a warg.

Yes, he had seen a warg.

In fact, he was stalking it right now. It was feasting on the carcass of some poor animal, ripping it apart in a most horrifying manner, one that made Shirou almost want to vomit. He had seen a lot of disgusting things in the fire, but there was something incredibly sinister and degrading about the way the beast tore the animal apart. It was not like how a lion would eat from a zebra or wildebeest, where the predator was simply feeding from the meal it had worked for. In the wild predators were not evil or mean, they simply lived and ate. Killing was not the act of taking a life, but the act necessary in maintaining their own.

Wargs were not natural predators. There was nothing necessary about the way the wargs stood on top of the prey and clawed and tore at the meat. It didn't even eat all of it. It would grab an organ, bite and rip it to pieces and then simply throw it away to begin the process all over again. It broke the bones of its prey for no reason whatsoever other than to humiliate and disfigure the corpse. What little it ate was just as bizarre. The heart, the brain, a foot and the stomach, not the most delicious parts and certainly not the most nutritious ones either.

Everything pointed to the wargs being intelligent yet evil. That is why he didn't hesitate to send an arrow through the vicious beast's head when it wasn't looking.

It was almost too easy. He notched the arrow with wind runes on it to enhance the speed and piercing power and drew the string back completely. He took careful aim at the warg's skull and released the arrow. It was silent due to the properties of the wind arrow. It didn't need to fight through the space between the target and it as the wind helped to part it when it approached in a tunnel of displaced air. The distance between the warg and Shirou was fifty meters, but the arrow crossed that gap in a second. In a shower of blood and gore, the brain of the beast exploded from the pressure the broadhead arrowpoint released in the enclosed space of its skull, the velocity and mass of the projectile akin more to a round from a sniper rifle rather than that of an English longbow. There was no exit wound, just a large gaping hole where the warg's eyes should have been.

He was shocked at the result. He had drawn another arrow and notched it before he realized the effectiveness the arrow had on the beast. It was almost too effective to be true. He had read about the monstrous beasts in his textbooks and had thought they were unstoppable killing machines, incapable of being injured except by the most powerful of weapons. His arrows may have been enhanced by the magecraft he wielded, but in the end they were made from mundane materials without any special properties or abilities. Only runes to increase velocity and penetrating power.

This was ridiculous. He had spent the last few hours in complete agony at the thought of confronting the warg pack, but a single arrow had taken one of them out. There was something obviously wrong about this, some factor about the beast that he was missing. It was on the tip of his tongue, as if that certain piece of information had been hidden from his thoughts by a veil that continued to evade his attempts at discovering it.

What could he have missed? What was wrong with the picture in front of him? A single wolf-like monster, tearing its prey to pieces. A single wolf eating from its prey. A single wolf…

Wolves hunt in packs.

He dodged to the side as quickly as his body would let him. The clawed limb that had threatened to take his head off in a single swing missed by an inch instead tore harmlessly into dull brown fabric. Fabric which had been reinforced to the toughness of leather and his only line of defence.

He turned around to see the hidden enemy he had missed and somewhere in his mind he realized why the warg he had just sniped had been so easily killed.

"So it was just a puppy. Crap."

The warg in front of him was twice as tall as the one he had killed just moments earlier and probably its parent judging by the fierce snarl it was releasing from its impressive jaws. The fur was a dirty brown, sticky with blood and gore. It obviously didn't care about hygiene, he absently noted.

It charged him on all fours and he barely had time to register the act before it was upon him. He reinforced his limbs and jumped up in an attempt to avoid the predator's dangerous charge. It swiped it claws at the spot he had been in just moments before. The warg's desire to rip his throat out had made it rush him without control and the momentum carried it forward in a straight line, its claws leaving large tracks in the ground.

Shirou landed and notched and arrow to fire, but the warg was too fast for the projectile to strike it. The arrow which had so effectively killed its cub was unable to land a clean strike and instead struck its shoulder, penetrating the flesh and sliding through the body of the beast to exit it and stop in a tree. The monster, because there was no other word to describe it as at the moment, didn't even acknowledge the injury, instead choosing to charge him once more. The arrow should have cut the musculature and broken the bones, but it didn't seem to register these wounds as relevant, only the death of the prey in its sights. In the second it had taken Shirou to understand the sheer tenacity of the warg, the Papa Wolf had closed the gap between them and brought its massive claws down in an attempt to cut his skull into parallel slices.

Had he not thought of an appropriate sword beforehand he might not have had the time to trace the falchion in his hands and brought it up to slice the aforementioned limb off from the wrist of the monster. The clawed hand itself fell down on Shirou's head and although the claws missed him, the force of the lost limb still managed to knock his head and disorientate him. Stars exploded into his vision as he had to fight to stay on his feet, not to fall down and become easy prey for the rampaging beast in front of him.

He was probably lucky. The enraged warg had the opportunity to use its jaws to bite down on his head, crushing it and killing him in the process. Instead it flailed its other arm, the one made obsolete by his earlier arrow and knocked him into the air. The impact took the breath right out of his lungs and he gasped. He flew through the air, he might even have flipped over once, but he was too disoriented to notice. He was too busy trying to force the air back into his lungs. He hit the ground hard and he rolled a few times to ease his landing if even a little. As soon as he was able to he stood up and located his enraged opponent, the warg already charging him once more. Though it still had the same fierce anger in its appearance, his fear was slightly lessened when he saw the state the warg was in. The left arm was useless, the shoulder having been destroyed by his attack earlier and the right arm was a bleeding stump.

He could do this. The warg's most dangerous weapon was its speed and that was on four legs. If it was forced to move on two legs would be slower and he had already weakened it enough to finish it off. Unlike before he now had time to aim his bow.

The arrow was notched and the strong drawn and just as the warg was about to leap at him and bite him to bits, he released the arrow straight at its chest. Straight at its heart…

The Papa Wolf dropped to the ground, the arrow having taken most of the momentum out of the leap. It was releasing a low growl, its famous last words perhaps and he decided to put it out of its misery. He let loose another arrow, this time aimed at its skull. The arrow hit its mark and the beast stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped living.

Shirou collapsed on the ground. His veins were pumped full of adrenaline and his legs twitched from exertion. Had he really just fought a magical beast? His breathing devolved into a series of short gasps and he felt a strange urge to empty his stomach. His body followed the urge, only to find he didn't have anything to regurgitate.

He really needed to get something to eat, he thought.

As he finished his bout of dry heaving, he shakily tried to stand up. It was hard considering the fact that he had been hit on the head just minutes earlier, but he managed. He wasn't injured, or even hurt for that matter despite him almost being mauled by the angry mass of death and malice. It was luck, pure and simple, unfiltered luck was the reason he was still alive and ticking after that encounter. By all accounts he should be dead. The warg had ambushed him and had the advantage in speed and power. The first hit he made on it had been a lucky strike and the second had been one as well. The third and final hit had been on purpose, but only possible due the incredible luck from the first two strikes.

He didn't think it would be like that every time he fought wargs. Wargs hunted in packs most likely so that meant more of them were on their way and he doubted they would let him fight them one-on-one. He needed to hide and rest for a bit, recover his strength and get his heartbeat down to appropriate levels. He didn't want his heart to burst out of his chest after only one fight.

He barely had time to climb up a tree before he heard the incoming pack of wargs close in on the crime scene. He hid himself in the canopy, the leafy camouflage concealing his brown and green clothes with surprising ease. He parted a few branches to see the horde of predators.

There were four of them, though nowhere near as large as Papa Wolf. They were larger than the puppy he had killed, but the tallest, a black warg with scars over its face and a snout covered in blood, stood at about two meters, and didn't look nearly as frightening as Papa Wolf with his two and a half meters in length. The large one was obviously the leader as the three others were about one and a half meters and unlike the large one which moved and sniffed around the small clearing, they were as still as wild animals could be, only moving their head to observe the surroundings. When one of them took a step forward, the black one released a loud snarl and the smaller warg sat down, having been properly chastised.

The black warg reached the carcass of Papa Wolf and he could see the difference between them. Papa Wolf was larger and brown, with bulging muscles over its chest and an elongated snout, much like its puppy Shirou had put down moments earlier. Scarface, as Shirou decided to call the black warg, was smaller with a dirty black fur and the snout was shorter and the skull thicker. They weren't related Shirou assumed, wolves had little difference in appearance compared to humans. For these two individual wolves to look so different probably meant they were not that close in terms of genetics.

Scarface raised its head and let out a long howl, louder than anything Shirou had ever heard before. His eardrums hurt in his head and he covered his ears with his hands to dampen the racked the wolf was making. Were they saddened by the death of their comrade? Wolves were social creatures so it was a theory that meant…

And it was a theory which could be thrown out the window as Scarface brought its jaws down on Papa Wolf's throat and tore it out in a gush of blood.

The way Scarface started eating the larger warg was even more gruesome than the way Puppy had eaten the deer it had been feasting on. Puppy was inexperienced compared to Scarface and a lot less malicious. Scarface didn't eat Papa Wolf, it desecrated his carcass. Using the same methods as Puppy, but with more violence and strength it took less than ten minutes before Papa Wolf had been scattered into pieces all over the clearing. While Scarface had been busy eating the parent, the smaller wargs had discreetly made their way over to Puppy and were now emulating their leader in humiliating the carcass of their fellow werewolf-lookalike. They each gripped a part of Puppy and tug at him, trying to get the biggest piece possible. The most horrifying part was that they didn't eat what they got, they only threw the limbs on the ground to go for more flesh from the main body. This wasn't the behaviour of a predator. Cannibalism can be found in animals, but not like this. Predators didn't tear animals into pieces for pleasure.

Shirou made up his mind.

The wargs had to go.

They weren't natural beings. Phantasmal species came in all shapes and sizes, but this particular species was pure evil, more so than Dead Apostles. Dead Apostles were capable of thought and some of them might even be good once they overcame their lust for blood. But these monsters were pure evil, no sense of right or wrong or even necessity. They committed evil for the sake of evil, nothing more.

The wargs had finished their `Meal´, eating their distant cousins, but leaving the deer untouched. Papa Wolf and Puppy were unrecognisable smears on the grass, no piece bigger than a fist had survived the mauling of Scarface or his three subordinates, with the only exception being the head of Papa Wolf which Scarface had left considerable intact. Shirou almost felt sorry for them. They had at one point been living creature had it not been for Shirou, but now their own kin had destroyed any sign of them being alive in the first place. If it weren't for the fact that Shirou was going to save the village and the fact that the wargs had terrorized the village for years and killed Rowland's family he might have pitied them, but at the moment he couldn't feel any sorrow for the monsters.

Scarface swallowed the last piece of Papa Wolf he could find and turned to his subordinates. They noticed his movements and turned towards him. The alpha of the group turned to the trail they had arrived from and bit down on Papa Wolf's skull, lifting it up and carried it with him before leaping onto the trail and vanishing from sight, the subordinates close behind him. They didn't even so much as look back on the clearing where two of their kind had just been savagely torn apart,

Shirou waited for a while before he slid down the tree, unsure if they were going to come back for some unknown reason. He had known the wargs were beasts, but this had been beyond his expectations. That they would do this to their own kind and a relative was not something he would have thought possible, but he had seen it with his own eyes. They needed to be put down to ensure the survival of the humans in Blackbay. If they were by some chance spread to the other forests in England the people all across the land would suffer from it. The question was…

Could he do it?

Even with magic and training from the Magus Killer, Shirou felt fear creep into his heart. He had never seen something so horrifying. Even when Kiritsugu had told him of the things he saw he hadn't believed it, not willing to believe that something so vile could be done by living things, intelligent beings with a soul. Kiritsugu had told him to believe it, to understand that not all humans were good and that evil will always exist. Were the wargs just one of these evils in the world?

He took a step towards the trail, willing those thoughts away from his mind. He stopped when he felt something mushy under his shoes and looked down. He had stepped on a patch of brown fur covered in blood and small pieces of flesh. The blood had splattered when he stepped on it and the liquid had sprayed all over his sneakers. He grimaced at the red spots covering his previously white sneakers. They had been bought just a week before he came to this time and had survived the dirt of the fifth century incredibly well, but now the blood had soaked his shoes and he could feel his socks getting wet from a disgustingly warm liquid that was seeping through.

He really hated wargs.

**AOB**

Rowland was spent. Even with the help of the villagers, getting the village prepared for an attack was hard work. The walls had been made and weapons had been collected, a few had even scrounged up some old bows bought from a travelling merchant. They would at least help when keeping the wargs back, but the hide of the damned things would repel the weaker arrows like they were nothing. The only one who was confident in using a bow was old man Jon, a lanky fellow who looked like he was one step in the grave already. At least he would die like a man if he kicked the bucked the next day. He didn't think the shrivelled up husk would want to die in a bed, he had too much pride for that.

They had retreated to the tavern and everyone, including the ones who would be taking off in boats were, were drinking ale and singing merrily. The old sang with the young, the men courted the women, and the poor were being treated to alcohol by the more fortunate members of the village. It was a sight he had not seen a long time, his tavern filled with people singing and drinking and all of them smiling. It wasn't because they thought they were going to survive, it was because they knew they were going to die soon. Instead of grumbling about the unfairness of it all, they instead wanted to spend their last day with the ones they loved and didn't love quite as much. They were tough like that, they didn't break under pressure like he had feared they would.

He himself was holding a flagon of wine in his hands and was gulping it down like it was water. He had saved the wine for a special occasion, but if he was going to die tomorrow then he would be damned if the Saxons were going to get to reap the rewards for his patience. The wine was his and no man or beast was going to stop him from drinking every single drop of it. After half the flagon was empty he let out a loud belch, one that roared over the chatter of the villagers and they laughed at the sound of it.

"Laugh it up, you lightweights! Ah'd like to see you wankers drink half as much as Ah can. You'd sleep on the floor before the hour is over." He said to everyone present and the younger men raised their goblets and emptied them in challenge. Though he doubted anyone of them would prove to be a challenge. Most of them were dozing off already and the ones who looked somewhat sober were old and knew their limits. They wouldn't be gulping down ale any time soon.

"You look like you're having fun." Lia said next to him.

The acting baroness was surprisingly not holding her child in her arms, having put to rest hours earlier. The tavern was loud and not the place for sleeping child. Lia had however decided to spend a few hours drinking herself silly, having forgotten what happened the last time she indulged herself in the alcoholic beverage. She was already looking flushed and ready to keel over, but the mother had apparently developed a resistance since last time and despite the amount of ale she had poured down her gullet she had not danced on a single table. Progress.

"Ah simply know how to enjoy the small things in life. And the bigger ones too, though Ah seem to forget what the difference between them are nowadays. Ah could have sworn you were taller than a dwarf last time we met, but now you look like you could fit in me palm." Indeed, the lass looked like she was no larger than an acorn.

"You're drunk, Rowland." Lia giggled. "And stupid, but we all knew that."

"Oh bugger off, it's not every day Ah get to drink like this and Ah haven't even gotten to the bottom of the mug." He said and took another swig of wine.

"I'd understand your feelings if it weren't for the fact that it's a flagon you're drinking from, not a mug and you're swinging from side to side like a wind chime." She pointed out to the tavern owner. He looked shocked.

"Is that why the house is tilting so much? Ah thought Ah was going mad! Now Ah need to drink even more." With that he started chugging down the wine, small droplets escaping his maw and dripping down his beard. The people around him started cheering him on as he emptied the clay pitcher. Lia giggled as she saw the younger men imitate him and grab smaller pitchers to drink down. None of them finished their containers as they dropped their heads on the table, asleep and waking up with a headache, unlike Rowland who finished with aloud belch once more and wiped his mouth with his beard.

"Finally…" he said, but stopped as he had to grip the table to support himself. "Ah thought me tavern was never going to stop spinning." Though he apparently understood what he had done as he raised the flagon once more for a drink and realized he had emptied the pitcher of wine. "Damn, somebody get me another mug."

Lia probably saw this as an opportunity to retire. "I need to leave now, Rowland. The boats leave early in the morning and most of us are going to have a headache. Someone needs to take charge of the boats before we set sail and judging by the look on Geoffrey and Robert and their drinking contest, we're going to have to look for a new captain."

Rowland sighed. "Aye, you're probably right, lass. Those fools might even die before they meet the wargs even." His tone softened. "Take care of yourself, lass. They are going to need someone to lead them regardless of we win or lose."

"Of course I'm right, who do you think I am? I'm the baroness of Hastings. Who else would lead them? Your little magician?" she grinned at him.

"Ah'm serious, be careful. The wargs are evil, unlike anything you'll ever face. If you see them run, run as if it's the devil himself."

Rowland's voice brought Lia back down from the delirious intoxication and she sobered up a little. "I will. Goodbye Rowland, I hope we'll see you again soon."

She left before he said goodbye, knowing this was the last chance they would see each other. This would be the last time an uncle would see his niece and the last time a niece would see her uncle.

**AOB**

In the middle of the night, a scream would be heard in the village of Blackbay. The villagers would rush out of their houses wielding pitchforks and other farming equipment. They would follow the direction of the scream, fear filling their veins with ice. They would burst into the house of the victim and the warg responsible of the crime would flee at the interruption of its meal.

Rowland stepped in front of the mob and looked down at what were once two humans, a mother and her child.

"Damn it, Lia."

Hastings was without a baron once more.


	5. Complications

_Archer of Black_

_Chapter 5: Complications_

* * *

**Once more I found myself playing that infernal game called Dark Souls. After having lost close to ten thousand souls in blightown I discovered thanks to a reviewer (Thank you GreyMan19) that I was entering through a side entrance. As I started to beat my head bloody against the wall, I try to find a way to get back and do it the proper way instead.**

**That was when I remembered that I awoke an Undead Dragon on my way to the side entrance and I had locked myself in with the damn thing. Since I needed to kill the damn thing anyway I decided to try my hand at dragonslaying. To make a long story short, I was poisoned and I died. Turns out I used all my blooming moss-things (I can't remember the real name for it.) in blightown and the dragon made short work of me. So instead of fighting it head-on like I usually do, I spent half an hour shooting arrows at it. I usually don't use a bow in games so I don't buy the stronger more expensive arrows and I use the standard bow you can buy early on. So as I tried to kill the dragon with a toothpick which took about ten HP at a time, I found myself wondering why I even bother. Then I remembered: FOR THE LOOT!**

**The problem was that the dragon only dropped a dragon scale... and nothing else.**

**F*ck.**

**So I started writing AOB again, hoping my eventual stroke would wait for just a few moments until I can calm myself down and I found it oddly relaxing. So here I am, sick with the flu and stressed out of my mind, writing fanfiction. Where did my life go wrong?**

**Anyway, back to the story.**

**I think my biggest problem when writing a story is how to segment it into bite-sized chunks. When I write AOB I just want to jump straight into the asskicking parts and leave out the boring dialog. Even when I know the dialog is more entertaining than the bloody action scenes I want to skip the talking and the thinking and the boring plot of the story. Simply trying to get the right amount of battle to mix with the right amount of slice-of-life is so hard I can't begin to describe the anguish I go through to keep the story good.**

**However I shall persevere, for you the reviewers and all the delightful reviews you leave. And that is why I write this AN.**

**1: The falchion used by Shirou in the previous chapter is not Kanshou or Bakuya. He has not seen them yet and I'm not sure he will. The reason he used a falchion is revealed in the chapter below.**

**2: His armour is going to be built slowly over time as will his reputation as a soldier and warrior. Right now he's a boy in a fishing village with some weird powers. Even if the people are afraid of magic, they won't take him serious because they see just a kid with dirty shoes and weird clothes. His swords are also on the way to evolve in a certain sense. Right now he only has nameless swords and a few Mystic Codes in his Reality Marble (Which he doesn't know about yet), but that is going to change.**

**3: There was hardly any mentioning of Lia. I was actually a little disappointed. In the beginning she was going to play a larger role and then get killed, but I didn't want to introduce an OC and let her get a major role only to be killed and upset the readers, but it appears that my downplayed her role too much. Introducing her and killing her in a single chapter seems to have made her relevance… irrelevant. Fudge it.**

**I'm thinking of updating ROTE next, just to get the revision and the half-completed chapter out of the way. The revision is mostly done, just a few tweaks in the plot left, but the chapter is the one thing I'm having trouble with. I can't seem to get any progress with it. Like a writer's block.**

**Meh, it'll sort itself out eventually.**

**On another note, I'm currently looking for a Beta. My writing is unfortunately taking ablow from the fact that My native language is Swdish and not English. The only requirement I have if you to be my Beta is that you have written a story of your own and you are a from a country that has Engslish as it native language.**

**See ya!**

* * *

**AOB**

Lia was dead.

His niece, the only family he had left, was dead. Torn apart by the wargs he had decided to kill before anyone he knew would be harmed again.

His niece, the one who had alienated him after her marriage with the baron, had been murdered protecting her son. Her son who had been ripped open by the same beast which had killed his mother.

His last relative, the niece who had left him and hated him, the one who had just recently made him think they could finally be a family again, had been killed the day before she would be free from the curse of Blackbay and the dangers of the Saxons.

"Rowland, what are we going to do now? Without Lia to explain our situation to the viscount we'll be branded as murderers before we can defend ourselves." Geoffrey said as he sat down in the tavern. They had taken Lia and her boy to the shed, the place all corpses were kept until a coffin could be made and the priest called for.

His niece was a corpse now, because he hadn't acted sooner.

Geoffrey was right. The baron was supposed to bargain for their stay in the viscount's lands, but without Charles or his family to vouch for them they would be doomed. If they were lucky they would be sentenced to a life as soldier-slaves, to spend the rest of their days fighting for the lord of the land. If unlucky, execution was the normal punishment for murder of nobles.

You deserve to die, for failing your family.

How were they supposed to survive this now? Their plan had been based on the fact that the baron, or his wife, would be forced to help them, but they hadn't accounted for the possibility on the baron dying. Even if they defeated the wargs without a single causality, they would die without a nobleman to explain their situation. Robin of Blackbay, the only Man-at-arms of Blackbay and the only person whose name could take the place of the baron's was gone, out on a quest sent by the duke. They were as good as dead, regardless of the success of the plan.

"Ah don't know, lad. Let me think for a moment." He said, his mind a spinning vortex of confusion and guilt.

He should have done something sooner. Fight back before and let his family escape the freaks of the forest. Filthy monsters! Now the baron and his family were dead and they were stuck between a rock and a hard place, between monsters and savages.

This was a goddamn mess. The plan had been going so well. The villagers had decided to help, the lad had set the traps out to stall the beasts and he had finally gotten some kind of contact with his estranged niece again. Why did the one thing that was not allowed to happen able to occur right under his nose?

No, wait a bit. The baron wasn't dead yet. Lia and her son were dead, but the baron was still alive, dying but alive.

"Geoffrey, get the men! Tell the women and the old folk to get in the boats and go to sea. Tell them not to go too far, they need to see how the fight ends." Rowland said to the younger man. Geoffrey jumped at the barking order and stared at the older man who had for some reason been given a second wind.

"Sure, but how are we going to explain all of this to the viscount?"

"We're not, you bloody fool! The baron is! We've come too far to give up so Ah'm not going to let Charles bow out before he's played his part. The damn wanker is going to help us out, even if Ah have to kill him myself to make him do it." He said, his voice carrying more edge than it had in years. He was furious, more than furious. He was boiling with rage and he needed to use that rage now.

Charles was going on those boats, even if Rowland had to tie him up and throw him over his shoulder like a maiden from legends about to be ravaged by the hero.

If Charles was going to act like a wench then Rowland was going to damn well treat him like one.

**AOB**

Complete and utter chaos.

That was the sight that greeted Shirou when he found the den of the wargs.

During his little walk in the forest, Shirou had made up a few theories about the wargs in general. Why would they treat each other like the way Scarface had treated Papa Wolf? Why would Puppy eat its meal in such a disgusting way? Why were they still here after fifteen years of life in brittania? He had wondered why they were such abominations that even Gaia would probably be horrified at their behaviour. Gaia was the collective conscious of all living things on earth, barring humans so why let a species that was clearly harmful for the environment live without trying to kill it like Gaia tried to kill humans?

He had not seen a single shred of evidence that Gaia was dealing with the beasts so in other words, wargs were under control. How can something so cruel and evil be under control? What kind of safety measure did Gaia have that made it safe to let the monsters called wargs roam free, when humans were considered a danger? If one was not careful then the wargs would overtake the earth and devour all living things, leaving nothing behind.

Shirou did not think he was a person who was easily offended, but even he had limits. Gaia had created monsters to cull humanity because it considered humans a hostile existence and yet it did not make a move to exterminate the wargs. Where was the fairness in that? Wargs had not only evil intent, but they also had intelligence. It was a primitive intelligence, but it was there. Humans had no inherent evil in them and they were growing gradually better at taking care of their environment. In the future they would learn how to recycle and take care of nature. How could Gaia see humans as enemies and yet allow these filthy monsters to exist?

Was this bullying? Was Gaia, the will of planet, bullying humanity? He didn't want to think of it like that, but he couldn't think of any other reason. Was Gaia deliberately overlooking the damage the wargs were making on nature in favour of focusing on the damage done on the humans? How unfair! He felt like he was back in first grade and the popular kids were sending their followers to pick on the nerds of the class.

Gaia, the world's oldest bully.

But Gaia was not the only one allowing them to exist. Alaya was the protector of humanity, the collective will of humans everywhere, surely she would have made a move to eradicate the vermin that was leeching off of the human race.

And yet she hadn't.

She had fifteen years to protect the humans living in Blackbay village and there had been no sign of any counter force-empowered human coming to save the lives of Rowland and the others. Where was the Counter Guardian responsible for hunting down the wargs? Even if the entire continent carried colonies of wargs, a single counter guardian should have the power necessary to slay them and travel to Blackbay. But the guardian had never arrived. Alaya didn't think the wargs were a threat to the human race for some reason.

That was a reason Shirou thought was just plain dumb. Even if they weren't powerful beasts like werewolves, they still posed a threat to humanity as a whole since they preyed on humans more than wildlife. They didn't hunt to eat, they hunted to kill. Alaya shouldn't allow such potential threats to survive, if only to remove future threats from the offspring.

However he hadn't accounted for one possibility until now.

He had already wondered why the wolves could grow to such immense sizes despite the obvious lack of wildlife to sustain large populations of large predators. They were a paradox in the ecosystem, something that should devour everything in the area then move on to a different location to repeat the procedure, like locusts only larger and more dangerous to human beings. The paradox was the fact that they didn't move on, they stayed in the same location for years only taking small parts of the natural wildlife. There wasn't a single species in the area that had gone extinct in the last couple of years according to Rowland, and while the tavern owner wasn't the most accurate source of information he could be trusted to know the state of his own village.

So if neither the wildlife nor the village was being slaughtered for their prana and meat, what was being eaten in order to sustain the Warg's impossible size?

The answer, Shirou had discovered upon reaching the den, were the wargs themselves.

Even now as he watched a black Warg crush the skull of one of Papa Wolf's cubs with his powerful jaws, he realized that he had pondered over the wrong things concerning the magical beasts. Their diet was not made up from meat only; it was first and foremost comprised of prana with meat being a conduit that carried prana. All phantasmal species could harness Mana to some degree and the wargs literally fed off the stuff. The prana they gained from eating the od from living beings was something they added to their regular diet.

So what was the result when the Mana in the area was being drained too much from the growing population of wargs?

Cannibalism was the result.

When Scarface had ripped Papa Wolf apart, he hadn't eaten much meat at all. He had been eating the prana stored inside his body. When it was just two wargs being eaten by a few others the exchange of prana had been too small to notice, all Shirou had been able to sense was that Scarface was growing stronger from eating. But now as he watched a dozen black wargs that looked like Scarface attack a smaller group of brown wargs that looked similar to Papa Wolf, even a third rate magus such as he could sense the prana that was permeating in the air. Each time a brown Warg fell and the black Warg started eating the air became filled with prana that smelled like blood and dirt.

The entire den was one big pit which was only accessible by a slope. The bottom of the pit was filled with skeletons, human and animal bones being scattered all over the place. The rock wall had small caverns all along its side and the wargs that had succeeded in taking down an opponent would drag its meal into the holes that barely fit them. The entire location was desolate and sterile to the point that the ground didn't even grow grass or weeds. The Mana that had been the food source for the phantasmal species had been absorbed to the point that the flora was unable to thrive. It felt less like a natural location and more like a cemetery.

Although he did wonder why this was happening now. The Scarface-faction was obviously attacking the Papa Wolf-faction, but was this because of Shirou? Were they attacking each other because Shirou had killed Papa Wolf? Had the brown wargs been the alpha male pf the pack and Scarface the second-in-command? If that was the case then Scarface might be trying to eradicate Papa Wolf's bloodline in order to ensure his own offspring is more successful.

Whatever the case, it worked in Shirou's favour. The previous count had been somewhere around thirty, but Shirou couldn't see more than fifteen living wargs left. The last attack on the brown wargs had killed most the offspring of Papa Wolf, but the black faction had been reduced. He had planned for an attack of thirty enemies, but only fifteen remained. Only four brown wargs were alive and they were surrounded by their black relatives.

He started setting out the traps while they were distracted and while the previous ones had been smoked to remove the trace of human scents, these ones had been covered in clothes to link them to the village. He activated them before he placed them on the path the wargs had used. When the wargs tried to attack the village they would lose a limb or two hopefully in the process.

He was about to leave once more when he saw it.

"Trace on."

The pitch black longbow materialized in his hands, black dust forming into a single solid form. He drew a reinforced arrow with wind runes carved along its shaft and aimed at the aforementioned target.

Scarface was sitting in the corner of the pit, holding a brown Warg not even half his size by the throat in his jaws. He looked almost exactly the same as he had just a few minutes earlier, the same facial scars, the same short snout and green eyes. The only difference was the size of his body.

He was much larger now. In fact, he was larger than Papa Wolf. His body had almost doubled in size and he was slowly eating the smaller Warg. The large canine looked almost like a doll in its much larger cousin's claws. Having been two meters just a few minutes ago, he now stood at a frightening three and a half meters. The puppy he was holding was only a meter at most so the difference in stature was daunting, but it wasn't just the physical difference that was different. Unlike the frantic mauling he had unleashed on Papa Wolf's carcass, he was now using a much calmer and controlled way of feeding. He didn't throw the bones and skin away to get at the more tender organs, instead opting to swallow each piece of meat he could get his teeth around. Had Papa Wolf's own stores of prana really enabled the Warg to grow to such outrageous proportions?

He drew the string back and aimed. Was he going to take the shot? Scarface was the largest of the wargs at the moment and if he attacked the village Shirou was not sure he could kill him before he reached the village. He had killed Papa Wolf out of luck and he wouldn't be able to take out an even larger Warg the same way. The best course of action would be to take him out in a surprise attack. To strike him from a distance and kill him before he had the chance to dodge. This would be the best opportunity for such a tactic. Scarface was relaxing in his den, he was confident not a single enemy was capable of killing him and his guard was down. Even the other wargs wouldn't dare touch him out of fear of their new alpha male's wrath. There wouldn't be a better chance to take him out than this.

But if he did shoot it he would have to fight the wargs in their own territory, alone and tired from the hike. He was severely outmatched in numbers and firepower and the way the leader had grown in size it wouldn't be stranger if the rest of the wargs could do the same if the leader was killed. They would take the prana from his corpse and grow to even larger sizes, sizes Shirou wouldn't be able to fight against. He could use his Mystic Codes to hurt enemies larger than him, but even with wind runes carved onto his swords and arrows he could still only do so much. Overclocking them increased their deadliness, but if he killed Scarface now and the next alpha was the size of a mountain then his little blades wouldn't do so much.

What would he do? He didn't want to face Scarface on the battlefield, but he didn't want the next alpha to be even larger.

He stayed there for a minute or so, considering the possibilities and the consequences of his actions. The sound originating from the pit echoes in the clearing he was in, telling the forest of the losing battle the brown faction was fighting. Barking, whining and snarling emanated from that deep pit, speeding Shirou in his thoughts, telling him what was happening. His knee was getting wet form the dirt it was standing on and he knew most of it was blood from the current battle.

If Scarface died then the next alpha would be larger and more deadly. If he left then the current alpha would still be even deadlier than Papa Wolf, an opponent Shirou was barely able to defeat even with luck on his side.

Plan A: Kill the Current Alpha.

Plan B: Fight the current Alpha near the village in its prime.

Plan C: …?

Shirou's eyes widened as he realized the third option. Would it be possible? Scarface would be too busy with the current war between factions to notice him and he could reinforce his limbs to run. The wargs may be faster, but they were fighting right now and his traps would stall them enough for him to escape. He looked down at the remaining brown wargs. The last two were an odd pair, both large and most likely strong enough to rip him apart, but they were nothing against Scarface. One was a golden brown while the other was a deep auburn. They were surrounded by black wargs who were snapping at their heels, trying to cause massive bleeding in their hind legs and bleed them out. They wouldn't last long and he needed to act now if he wanted to go the third option.

He drew the string back completely and filled the mystic code with prana, filling it to the bursting point, a technique Kiritsugu forced him to learn. He aimed it at Scarface and let it fly.

The projectile had runes carved into it, but the tip had several others as well. Some runes could impart kinetic force when activated, but it was a tricky thing to learn. The object would have to absorb the force needed to impart it first something which could take time and was useless in a fight. However when the object in question is flying through the air in the shape of an arrow then the force needed to hurt the opponent was absorbed in the first few meters. The rest was simply overkill.

Well, Kiritsugu had said there was never anything called overkill. In the end, all that mattered was if the enemy was dead and you were alive.

The arrow was not meant to kill Scarface. If he died then the attack on the village would be led by a behemoth Shirou might not be able to kill. The arrow was meant to cripple him to the point that Shirou would be able to kill him early on in the attack. Papa wolf had lost most of his power after his arms were taken out of commission so the same theory would apply to Scarface.

The kinetic arrow impacted on Scarface's right arm and the result was immediate. It had noticed the arrow in the last second of it flight, but it had been too late in dodging it. The entire shoulder was blown off in a shower of blood, akin to that of when Shirou had shot Puppy. The useless limb spun around in the air a few times before landing with a loud thud, crimson liquid dripping from the wound. Scarface let out a loud scream as the pain of the loss of his arm reached his brain. He gripped the bloody shoulder with his remaining clawed hand and sank to his knees in an eerily human manner. He started snarling at the direction the arrow had come from, but Shirou had already moved to hide behind a rock.

The black wargs had stopped their extermination of the brown wargs and were staring at their alpha. When they understood what had happened they started whining as they tried to make themselves understood. Scarface needed prana to heal it seemed and they didn't want to provide it. The brown wargs would be the perfect source of prana… if they hadn't used the moment of surprise to break through the ring of black wargs and escape up the slope.

Shirou thought the brown wolves had come up with a great idea and had started running himself. His reinforced limbs were far faster than any average human and he was practically flying through the dark and dense forest. The falchion with runes on it that had sliced off Papa Wolf's arm was secured on his back and he was hoping any attacks from behind would be stopped by the mystic code.

He had done his part of the plan. He was hoping Rowland had succeeded on his part.

**AOB**

The Baron's home was a slightly larger house than the rest of the village. It was about the same size as the tavern and the church and it was in much better condition than the other two. Most of the village's meagre income went straight to the baron's coffers and he could therefore afford the wood from the neighbouring land. While the Blackbay and the other two villages under Charles control were slowly falling into oblivion, Charles spent most of his days in relative luxury to the pint that he didn't much care of the issue with the wargs. Even now with the Saxon invasion it was obvious the baron was not overly concerned with the dangers posed to the lives under his protection. His stables were almost filled with horses of varying sizes and the carriage was in relatively good condition.

Rowland had seen larger and more elaborate buildings in his travels as a merchant though so he wasn't too impressed as he walked through the house his niece had been killed in just hours earlier. The house as a whole was not damaged too badly, the only room ruined had been the nursery which the Warg had broken into through the window and thrashed. When the plan was over and the wargs had been killed they could repair it and it would be like the attack had never occurred.

He was going to burn the place to the ground before he let that happen.

The door to the master bedroom was carved with patterns and pictures, probably depicting some old legend, but Rowland didn't care about it. He opened the door without knocking, scaring the maid sitting by the bed and feeding the baron some kind of soup. Chicken, judging from the smell of it. Charles swore as the hot soup spilled from the bowl and onto his skin.

"Damn it, what the hell do you want Rowland? At this hour too?!" He said angrily, but lacking the energy he usually possessed. The man was rather pale too, just a few shades from looking like a corpse.

"You need to get up, Charles. We're moving and you need to be with us when we're talking to the baron of Rye. He'll think we're deserters if we don't have a nobleman with us to explain things for us." He said as he took out a thick coat from the chest at the end of the bed and threw it at the baron.

"Excuse me?" Charles eyes narrowed. "What the bloody hell are you talking about, Rowland? We're not moving the village until we've received the word from the viscount. If the viscount heard that the village is stopping its fishing ahead of time then he will lose the cut he receives from the taxes. If that happens he'll send the army to…" Rowland stopped him in his explanation by throwing another coat in his face.

"Ah don't care, we're leaving. Ah'll explain when we get there, but get dressed or Ah'll drag you out to the boats in your sleeping gown." He said as he put a bunch of different clothes in the arms of the maid who looked like she was going to buckle under the combined weight.

"You'll explain now while I'm in bed eating my food, you oaf! And why the hell are you cleaning out my wardrobes?!" he said as he pointed at the tavern owner who was once more picking out coats and thick sweaters.

"The villagers need winter clothing, especially now since we're going by sea. Most of our own clothes are full of holes and tears so Ah figured you could lend us a helping hand now that we're going traveling together. You don't mind, do you?" The former merchant explained as he picked out a rather extravagant traveling cloak and wrapped himself in it. The rough and grey clothes he wore underneath clashed with the red and gold of the cloak, but he didn't seem to care and as he looked himself in the mirror.

"I do mind, you blathering baboon, those are the robes of my ancestors! Passed down through the generations since the founding of Brittania and not meant to be worn by a failed merchant! Now take it off before I called the guards!" Baron Distray threatened as he weakly raised an accusing finger. Rowland scoffed.

"And who will wear them now that your son and wife are dead? Look at you, you're half-dead already! The way you're acting the Distray line will be over by the end of the week. Then what will happen to you precious clothing? They'll be used as kindle by some dumb Saxon who doesn't know the difference between robe and a rug. You think they'll care about whether or not some minor noble used to wear these clothes?" He fumbled with the pin holding the cloak in place before throwing the piece of bronze away and tying the ends together in a simple knot.

Charles was boiling with rage by this point, but the colour of his face didn't change from the pale shade of grey it had been just a few minutes before. The sickly skin looked like someone had carved a wax doll of the man and dropped it in his bed as some joke, but Rowland knew Charles was a stubborn fool, stubborn enough not to keel over before he drove the intruder out of his home.

"Why are you here, Rowland? Is it not bad enough that my son and wife lost their lives tonight? Must you come here and insult me further? I'm an old man now and Lia was my last hope of having an heir. Can't you let me get some rest before I have to force some poor fool to answer the Duke's call-to-arms? I'm probably going to die before the Saxons come here anyway!" The furious baron yelled at the offender who was still trying one more outfits. Rowland stopped his digging in the wardrobe of the baron and looked at him. The tavern owner was also tired and he knew the fear Charles was feeling. The fear of death. Even as he was preparing for the attack of the wargs he felt the hairs on his neck stand at attention in fear. Every time he walked out the door he had to stop and gather his courage to open the door, the fear of seeing a Warg standing on the other side of the door making him hesitate, making him falter.

"Ah'm here because you don't need to die because of this, Charles. Have you been listening to what the lads have been talking about while standing guard? The lad that came her a few days ago, the boy with hair as red as blood, he's a bloody wizard!" He said, waving his arms to make the baron listen to him. It worked. Just like with the villagers, the mentioning of magic made the baron release a small gasp and his eyes widened in shock. Maybe he had heard about the boy's weird powers or maybe he had not, the fact remained that if a man as stubborn as Rowland believed in the boy being a wizard the chances of him actually being one were pretty high. The baron's breathing became laboured as he held his chest in pain.

"Are you sure of this, Rowland? Can he use magic?" he spoke with forced words. The pain in his chest was probably taking a toll on him. Judging by the way he was continuing the conversation probably meant he was somewhat used to the pain by now and thought it wasn't very dangerous.

"Aye, Ah've seen him use magic to create weapons and fire and traps that Ah've never seen before in my life. He held fire in his hands and he recovered from wounds that would have taken other weeks in just days. He's a goddamn wizard!" He said with amazement in his voice. The Rowland had never seen anything like it and he had seen plenty of magicians in his travels. Most of them were simple entertainers, but the lad was different. A true wizard that used magic like it was nothing.

But Charles hesitated.

"How do we know he's here to help us? He could be a Saxon spy or some evil sorcerer for that matter. He could be doing this to destroy the village before the Saxons come here to help them get a base without fighting at all." The baron said sceptically.

Rowland sighed at the man's tone. He was going to need more convincing than the villagers apparently. The villagers were going to die without Shirou's help, but Charles could leave whenever he wanted to. The commoners had nothing to lose by helping Shirou, but Charles did. Except…

"Without the lad then we're all dead. We can't leave without being attacked by the wargs. You can't leave by yourself anymore since your sickly body would die from traveling alone. If we stay we die from the invasion. You need to help us with this, Charles. If you stay here then you die, but if you survive then you can ask the lad for some kind of potion or something to get your health back. Hell, you might be able to get another heir if you get another wife before you croak."

He felt a knife plunge into his heart as he suggested Charles get another woman to marry. The fact that he was suggesting the baron to forget about his niece so soon was almost too much to bear. Charles had never loved Lia; she had only been a womb to carry his heir. It didn't change the fact that Lia had been infatuated with the baron, a man Rowland had once called friend. It was the only reason he had been allowed to act the way he had until now, despite the fact that Charles now hated his guts with a passion. The failure from thirty years ago was still fresh in their minds and only their long friendship had stopped them from killing the other party in rage.

_Your cowardice led your family to their deaths_

Charles stopped glaring at Rowland seemed to ponder the suggestion for a bit. He chewed his lip and his eyes flickered between Rowland and the bell that called for the guards. After a while he only looked at Rowland.

"You think the boy can kill the wargs and cure me from this disease eating away at my body?" he asked cautiously.

Rowland didn't reply immediately. He didn't know if the boy could cure him. All he had seen the lad do was create weapons and fire. The boy could heal his own body unnervingly fast so he should be able to heal others as well.

"Ah don't know actually. Ah've never seen him heal other before so Ah couldn't say. But it doesn't change the fact that all of us are going to die if we don't do something and the lad is our best chance to do it. How many wizards do you know that can fight, Charles?" Not giving the baron a chance to respond he continued. "None? That's what Ah thought. The brat might not be the army we hoped the duke would send us fifteen years ago, but he's something at least. At least give the boy a chance to save us before we all die."

Charles coughed a few times and rubbed his chest, the ache probably giving him difficulty sleeping if the dark bags under his eyes were any indication. "If I did agree to this, what would I have to do?"

Rowland smiled at the slightly older man. "Well, you don't have to do much at all. While half of the village will be staying here to defend against the wargs and to kill as many of them as possible, the other half will be out at sea to observe the battle from afar. If we lose then they will go to Rye and negotiate with the baron and explain the situation to the viscount. If we win then they'll come back to the village and we'll start to rebuild again, only this time we can take the timber form the forest and we won't have to bargain for the timber of Rye. You will be in the boat since you don't look so good."

Charles nodded his head and swallowed the saliva in his mouth. Instead of giving Rowland his answer he turned to the maid. "Gather the winter coats from the hidden closet and get the bread and cheese from the kitchens. And call the healer and tell him he'll be the one to carry me to the boats. I'm not in any condition to walk to the pier." With that he picked up the bowl of soup and started feeding himself, the sick baron shaking as he tried not to let the soup spill from the spoon. The maid, Esther something, gave a quick "Yes, Mi'lord!" and left with the large pile of clothes in her arms. He was actually quite surprised when she didn't buckle under the weight of it all. The lass had a good spine if nothing else.

The fact that the stubborn baron had agreed to their plan was an enormous victory on Rowland's part, but he didn't really feel the joy he should have been feeling. In all honesty, he didn't want Charles to go on the boats. He wanted the bastard to stay here with them and get killed by the wargs. The man had spent years hiding form the wargs and refusing to take responsibility for his failure. He had shrugged off his duty to protect the people under his protection and had instead buried his head under the sand like the coward he was. The only reason he was helping them was because there was a slight chance the lad could save him, if the lad had not been able to use magic that might help the baron then Charles would probably have tried to drag the entire village down with him. He hadn't even said one word of sorrow about his own damn wife. Selfish bastards like him should just stay and die the pathetic death he deserves.

"When are the boats leaving the harbour, Rowland? As much as I despise the fact that I was left out of the loop for this little plan of yours, I would not want to be late and miss the only chance I have at seeing the end of those little pests ravaging my lands nor would I want to be here when they arrive." Charles asked, bringing Rowland out of his thoughts. He had to scratch his head in order to gather his composure.

"At dawn in a few hours. The sea will be warmer than the land will be so we won't have to worry about freezing to death if we use the coats you have, but we won't be able to sail past the rocks unless we have the sunlight for it. The lad left yesterday and he would lead the wargs to attack sometime after dawn so we'll have to leave when the sun starts to appear. You sure you can handle that?" Even now he was hoping the man would have to stay in the village by missing the boats, to feel the same fear Lia felt when she was protecting her child. He knew he couldn't however, the fate of the villagers rested on this man's shoulders. Well, mostly on the lad's, but they would need his help of course. He wouldn't let his own pride and vengeance get in the way of the wellbeing of Blackbay village.

"Good, that will leave me plenty of time to get ready. How much room do you have on the boats? I'll need to make room for my coffers too." Charles said while slurping up the chicken soup with his shaky hands.

Was he serious? The boats were full to the brim; they could only make room for the baron and his servants if they pressed together and stood up while getting rid of useless things like tools and keepsakes. There wouldn't be any place for coffers of silver and gold. Whatever coins and jewels he had he would have to leave them in the village.

"We don't have any room for stuff like that. The boats are already full as it is with the women and the old folk." He said.

The baron looked at him with confusion in his features. "Then what am I supposed to do with my wealth? I can't leave my money here, can I?"

"You're going to have to leave it here, Charles. They're fishing boats for daily trips, not warships that can carry dozens of soldiers. The fact that we can squeeze so many of the villagers into just three of them are a blessing, trying to ask for more will only bring death. If we survive the attack then you can go back to your house and take it back, but for now it's staying here." Rowland said determinately.

"I can't leave all the wealth I've spent my life collecting in a village about to be run over by monsters! Think of what will happen if we get back one day and it's gone. My name will be ruined and my status as a noble will be non-existent. If I don't have that money to pay the viscount's taxes then he'll have me executed and name removed from the books of nobility!" Charles exclaimed loudly, though the effect was lessened by the fact that he started wheezing towards the end of it.

"Your name is worth less than your life and if you try to bring your coffers of gold and silver on the boats then the ship will sink before you leave the harbour. Besides what do you think will happen? What would the wargs want with gold in some house they've been in once? Or is it bandits you're worried about? Bandits who try to stay in the forest and get eaten by the wargs at night? Your wealth is safe in Blackbay at the moment, but you aren't so for now, leave it here." Rowland responded.

He had forgotten how stubborn Charles really was. Even at death's door the man would let his own wellbeing go before the lives of countless other unless it benefited him in some way. Though that probably spoke more about his greed and cowardice than his stubbornness, but the point remained the same. The man was an idiot and a selfish one at that. How he ever managed to succeed the seat of baron from his father was a mystery to Rowland.

It looked like the baron wanted to argue, but a coughing fit stopped him. Seeing how he was not going to win an argument with Rowland concerning his own wealth over the lives of the village, the older man surrendered with a wave of his hand.

"Fine, I'll leave my fortune here, but if a single penny is missing I'm taking it out on the tavern's income. Got it?" he tried to put emphasis on the threat by pointing his finger in Rowland's direction, but once more the threat was reduced because of the weakness the man was showing by wheezing and coughing.

"Fine, you do that you bloody wanker. Just get your pale arse to the boats before we leave or you'll die anyway. We're not going to wait for you if you're late." The large tavern owner said and left.

The baron went back to his lukewarm soup, not realizing Rowland had left with his best robe until the man was out of his house and back in the village.

**AOB**

Shirou knew his limits.

As a child he was always trying to find new limits and reach new heights and he had gotten his fair share of scars as a result. Trying to fire several arrows at the same time had earned him a broken wrist and a severed finger. Reinforcing his wrist while broken had earned him a broken arm and a rant from Kiritsugu. Trying to spar with Fuji-nee while letting her wield Torashinai had given him nightmares for weeks and a sore and bruised body.

Sparring with Kiritsugu in unarmed combat without reinforcing his body had landed him in bed for an entire day and a couple of broken ribs. Say what you want about the old man, the geezer had a mean hook and the knowledge to make it hurt.

So Shirou was certain he knew his limits quite well. He knew how fast he could run while using reinforcement and he knew how much he could reinforce his body before feeling the pain of it. He knew how much prana he had available, counting the od from both his crest and his own magic circuits. He knew the physical condition of his body due to the extensive use of structural analysis.

Shirou knew the state of both his body and his magecraft extremely well and the result when the two mingled.

So how was it possible he had exceeded those limits already?

He had used reinforcement on his entire body for a while now in order to run at maximum speed. He was at full capacity in terms of physical condition and he was using his reinforced eyes to find the best route to the village and to avoid the traps he had laid all over the paths.

He knew he was **not** supposed be at the dead wolf yet. It had taken him hours to reach that point on the way to the den and even longer to reach it from there. It should have taken him an additional two hours to make it this far under normal circumstances. Even if you said he was just backtracking his own steps then it would not have enabled him to save two hours. Maybe half an hour at most, but two hours was just pushing it.

And yet the dead behemoth was in front of him, hidden by the runes he himself carved.

"The hell is going on?" He said out loud. He had not seen or heard any sign of the wargs so he assumed they had not followed him immediately after he attacked. They had probably gathered around Scarface, trying to help but keeping their distance from his wrath at the same time. Hopefully Scarface would take out a few of them in rage before he followed Shirou's trail.

"I wonder what happened to the brown ones." They had slipped away in the confusion caused by his sneak attack. They were smart, smart enough to instantly take advantage of an opening and escape. They had made a beeline for the slope and entered the thick forest for cover. He had taken off in the opposite direction, instead heading straight towards the village. The traps had been set and they were covered in human scents, scents that would lead them straight for the village. The brown ones may have survived the extermination the black ones were causing, but they would distract the majority of wargs for the time being. Even if they left for another forest they would not survive for long. Shirou might not be the best tracker alive, but he knew enough magecraft to bridge the gap. If they started hunting humans again he would know and he could take them out.

Though it wouldn't matter if he didn't survive the attack. Most wargs attacked at night, but they could attack during the day as well. This provocation would make them attack in broad daylight, giving them no place to hide and lessening the advantage the beasts had over humans somewhat.

That was if the plan had gone as intended. The biggest flaw in the plan was the village itself. Had the villagers helped Rowland in creating fortifications? Had they decided to help in the defence of the village? Would they actually try to stop him from entering the village? A lot of things could go wrong and Shirou would be powerless to stop them. The worst case scenario was that the villagers refused to help and banished him from the village, making him fight a pack of monstrous beasts that surpassed him on every front on an open field with nothing, but traps created as mystic codes to help him. That was not something he was looking forward to if Rowland had failed.

Even so, he wouldn't really feel any anger towards them if that was the case. He might have been trying to help them, but it didn't change the fact that he had gone through with the plan without their consent. While time was short and drastic times demanded drastic measures, he still thought it was unfair of him to do it. Kiritsugu had said the ends justified the means, but it didn't change the despicable feeling in his gut at the moment.

Should he have gone to ask for their opinion first? Wasn't it important that they agree to the plan before the plan is already in motion? He felt twisted, torn between saving the village by ignoring their own free will and letting them choose and risking their lives. Rowland had said they could leave by boat, but what if the boats weren't enough or one of the boats broke under the strain of carrying too many people? There was also the fact that something wasn't quite right in what Rowland had told him. It felt a little too good to be true for three boats could carry fifty people. Even if it was just barely, fifty divided by three was still a large number for old medieval fishing vessels. They didn't qualify to be called ships, their size being too small for it, and yet they would be able to carry the entire village of Blackbay if they didn't want to stay and fight? It seemed fishy, but Rowland wouldn't lie to him, would he?

Would he?

Regardless, he needed to focus on the task at hand. He had a few hours left until he got to the village if he continued at this pace, but if his new increase in speed was permanent then maybe it would be less than that. He didn't find any unknown prana signatures in the air so that meant he was relatively safe, at least until the wargs found the trail of traps he had laid out and even then they would be slowed down by the injuries sustained. They might be an hour behind him at best so he might have time for some extra precautions.

He took the handle of the falchion behind his back. The angle and the length of the blade made it awkward to take it out, so unlike the animes and movies he had seen as a child where dozens of heroes carried their swords on their backs. The sad fact was that swords were meant to be carried by the hip, not on the back. The angles made it impractical in battle and on a battlefield practicality meant the difference between life and death. Even if the falchion was a short sword compared to other he had seen in his life, he was still a child and the size was too much for him to use it effectively without reinforcement.

He had already carved runes into the blade, wind and earth runes to increase velocity and sturdiness. With his limited knowledge of magecraft, this was the limit of his current abilities. His crest made it possible to use stronger spells, but his lack of experience made that a pipedream at best. What he needed right now was not a stronger blade, but more blades.

Creating a blade from his memory was easy, but the task was made significantly easier if he had a picture in front of him. Inspecting the blade and the runes engraved of the steel, he focused on the image in his head. Steel created in a factory, sent to a blacksmith dedicated to preserving the ways of the old forges. Runes carved in the workshop of a Japanese magus called "The Magus Killer" and practiced with in the home of the same person. Before he knew it, ten blades were hovering in the air in front of his before they lost their aerial abilities and fell to the ground. The impacts on the ground and with the other fake blades created a series of clanking noises that echoed in the large forest. He had to bite back a curse as he tried to stop the swords from alerting his pursuers of his current location.

He had to think of a way to stop the blades from falling on the ground as soon as they appeared.

The swords on the ground were the same as the one in his hands, but with a few differences. They carried the same design, but were noticeably flawed. The steel was not as perfectly forged and the runes looked more scratched on rather than carefully carved. The weights of all the replicas were also different from the well-balanced blade in Shirou's hands. Shirou had used more prana when he had traced the `Original´ compared to the replicas so the results were lacklustre compared to it, but they served their purposes well enough. They weren't meant to be used in battle by a human after all so they didn't need the design for it. All he needed was the design and the fact that he didn't need to spend as much prana on a new blade. Copying one he already had was cheaper.

"Trace on." he said, activating his magic crest on his chest. The crest located over his ribcage gave of a red glow and he used one of the spells his ancestors had donated to the crest, in this case a trapping spell.

The mechanics behind the spell were simple. Bury the dangerous parts of the trap, the blades, and use a wire to activate the trap. The trap was attached to the mind of the user like a familiar and would let the owner know when the trap was activated. It was an effective trap, if the victim didn't know magecraft. Any magus worth his salt could detect such a primitive trap and even normal humans could notice the wires used. If the opponent knew even a little bit of magecraft then the trap was almost guaranteed to fail.

That was why it was such a good trap against wargs. They were beasts, pure and simple. Any brain they possessed was overshadowed by brawn. Scarface was the new alpha now and his thoughts would be clouded with fury. No living being, human or magical wolf-like beast, would let the ones who took their arm walk away without revenge. They would be running after him, blinded by rage and foaming at the mouth. The human who had dared take his arm was from Blackbay village, the village they had been feeding on for years! Scarface wouldn't let such an insult go, not after having become the alpha of the pack. He'd find the offender and go for the kill.

That would lead him to the village, injured and mad with rage, only he would be stopped time and time again as the traps Shirou had laid out for him would slow him down.

He covered the trap in a light blanket of leaves and took off running again. He could feel his muscles straining as the prana flowed into them. A single step propelled him into the air until it looked like he was hovering instead of running, a whirlwind of leaves following his path.

He frowned. There was something strange about his circuits now that he focused on them. They didn't… ache as much as they were supposed to do when he used magecraft. Instead of the heat released when using them, he felt just a bit fuzzy inside. Nowhere near the same amount of pain as he normally felt, it was strangely comforting.

It made him feel awesome.

He didn't stop to think about it though, for obvious reasons. He might feel like a millions bucks, but it didn't change the fact that fighting magical werewolf-knockoffs on their territory alone was an incredibly stupid idea, one Kiritsugu had told him any human would find laughable at best. He did find the fact that he had actually wanted to do that as a _younger_ child a bit laughable until he remembered the way Kiritsugu had literally beat that idea out of his head during their daily spar. Never again did he mention his desire to test out his magecraft in front Kiritsugu.

He focused on running and the clearing he had left the trap in was quiet, only the leaves falling disturbing the silence.

**AOB**

"Alright lads, hurry up! We have to get the boats in the water before the wargs get back. The moment the sun rises we're getting the bloody hell outta here!" Rowland yelled by the docks. The thirty men or so gave an affirmative roar in response and heaved the fishing boat into the cold water, spraying icy droplets of sea into the faces of everyone gathered.

Though the word dock might be an overstatement in its current condition, the docks of Blackbay were once filled to the brim with merchant vessels fighting for the best places to unload their cargo. It had been the village's greatest asset, being the kingdom's closest harbour to the mainland that avoided the territories of the kraken and the sea snake. Of course that had been the reason for their downfall since that meant the Saxons had chosen Blackbay as their first goal for the same reason. The first attack had scorched the docks and most of the village before they had moved on, only for the second wave to Now they had to use the boats to escape the wargs, but at most only half the village would be able to leave. The rest would have to stay behind to fight, whether by their own choice or by force, it was up to them, but the women and old people would fill the boats first. Any man capable of holding an axe or pitchfork would have to wait and hope there would be some seats left.

"I'm here, Rowland. Tell me which boat I'm going in and hurry up, the healer is almost as weak as I am and looks about to faint." An obnoxious voice said behind him. Rowland turned around and saw the baron of Hastings, Lord Charles Distray, walking down the dock.

Well, walking would have been a strong word. The man was leaning on the shoulder of a smaller man, the town healer, and both of them looked exhausted from the effort. The baron looked like he was about to keel over, his wheezing breaths and waxy skin giving him the appearance of a walking corpse. The healer, though not looking like he was dying from overexertion, was not a muscular man as he spent most of his days tending to wounded so the effort of having to carry a man larger than himself was clearly taking its toll on the man's poor physique.

As a result, both men were half-walking, half-hobbling over the uneven surface of the wooden dock. Charles was visibly frustrated over the inability of the healer to carry him properly so the tone of his voice carried more venom than it usually did, though it might also be the fact that the man had resigned himself to spending hours on end with the commoners on a boat with no privacy to speak of. Charles was always a spoiled brat, no matter what age the man reached.

"Yeah, you get to go in Brunhilde over there, the ship with the two fishes on the sails. You'll sit on the port side of the ship, or the left side if you didn't know what that meant." He said as he simultaneously threw crates filled with food and clothing onto a different ship, Njord, only for Geoffrey to catch the wooden container.

"I know what Port side means, you inane buffoon! The thing I'm wondering is how you'll expect me to survive the night. It's freezing out here and you want to me to stay with the village out at sea, with the wind and water chilling us to the bone?" The sick man complained, his voice grating Rowland's ears with its never-ending whining. It took all of Rowland's self-control not to abandon his task and slam his fist into the nobleman's jaw. It would have been such an easy thing to do, to simply put down the blankets he was holding and punch the baron right in his face, breaking the nose and knocking him out at the same time.

But then Charles might go back on his word and betray them when they get back to land. They needed his support even if the lad wins in Blackbay. If they have to go to Rye and the baron backstabs them they would die so it would be in their best interests not to aggravate the self-entitled prat.

"It will be alright as long as we get out to sea. The sea is nowhere near as cold as in the village, don't ask me why. There might be a curse or something, but the sea is warmer than the land and as long as we have the coats you gave us then we'll be fine." He said with exasperation hidden in his voice. If the baron noticed it then he didn't seem to care, but he continued with his irritated tirade.

"Yes, but you don't expect me to cuddle up with these people, do you? I'm a baron, not some fisherman! Tell them not to get to close to me or I'll have them flogged." The increasingly irritated man said as he had his helper carry him towards the boat.

"You don't have a choice, Charles!" Rowland yelled after him. "There's not enough room for all of you so you have to cuddle up. Play nice or Ah'll have you flogged!" Then in a quieter voice, only loud enough for the fishermen next to him to hear, he added. "You dying little shite!" it brought a few chuckled from the men who heard him.

He threw the blankets to Geoffrey and was about to take another load when he someone shout out his name. He turned around, thinking Charles had been unhappy about his placement on the fishing vessel and had come back to complain, but was surprised when it was not the baron who was running towards him.

"I'm back!"

The lad had returned it seemed.


	6. An Unexpected Adversary

_Archer of Black_

_Chapter 6: An unexpected adversary…_

* * *

**Greetings from Estonia! I'm currently visiting my father in Tallinn and I love it (Except I have to sleep on the couch because he lives in a one room apartment). We went to see Horrible Bosses and Interstellar at Coca Cola Plaza and I have to tell you, Estonian people are so much better at the cinema than Swedish people. They are so quiet and polite while in Sweden everyone is talking during the movie. Why can't Sweden be more like Estonia?**

**Also, have anyone seen the trailer for Jurassic World? Holy hell, I thought my heart was going to stop when I saw it! Another Jurassic park-movie! I'm seriously hoping it's not going to be the third movie because it honestly sucked. When they said in the trailer that they were creating a hybrid I was a little annoyed 'cause that's usually a bad plot point, but they actually made me think it might work. At the end of the trailer with the raptors when they're running with the main character I was jumping up and down in my chair. I'm going to book some tickets as soon as possible because I am going to be at the cinema when it premieres!**

**Dinosaurs rule!**

**Never mind that though, I have found a new interest in K-pop. My sister was always talking about groups like Super Junior and BTS, but I didn't actually realize that there are also _female_ K-pop artists like Hello Venus and Sistar. I confess to enjoying a guilty pleasure when listening to Wedding Dress by Taeyang even though I don't' usually listen to male artists.**

**Don't judge me! My self-esteem is low enough as it is!**

**There seems to be some of you who haven't understood that this is a Timetravel-story yet though. Just to be clear about it, this is a timetravel-story! He will spend most of the time in the middle ages, fighting monsters and beasts and saving the damsel in distress. Or not, but please understand that the main focus of the story is the time he spends in the middle ages.**

**To go back to the chapter at hand, I started writing this immediately after I published the previous chapter, but I didn't know how to write it. So I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**And yes, I did get the term "Master of Coin" from Game of Thrones.**

**There might be a few more errors than usual in this chapter since I was in a hurry to upload it. Our internet has been kicking up a fuss lately so I apologize in advance.**

**I'm still looking for a Beta. The only requirements are that you are a native English speaker and you have uploaded a few stories which have received good reviews.**

**Without further ado, please enjoy!**

* * *

**AOB**

Shirou was sweating as he entered the village. He had run through the forest faster than he had left and even though the chilly winter was cooling his body down, the physical exertion of having to run all the way was enough to force even his reinforced and trained body to heat up. He had to wipe his brow with his sleeve to keep his eye free from the salty sweat running down his forehead.

He had good reason to run as well. The trap he had left behind had been triggered just moments earlier and the loud howl that had echoed across the forest told him that Scarface had been the one to feel the full effect of having several blades empowered with runes travel hundred miles per hour straight through his body. There was simply no other beast in the forest capable of such a loud and deafening roar except for the alpha of the Wargs. Even the echoes of the howl reverberated in his eardrums and he felt the beginning of a headache as a result.

That was just a few minutes ago and it had taken him an three hours to get to the village, something he didn't want to believe considering the impossibility of the act. Five hours had been shaved down to three? Once again he could reason that it might be because he had been forced to lay out the additional traps and that he had to be careful not to be noticed, but that couldn't save him two hours once more, could it?

Whatever the roar had been he had no time to dwell on it. The time it had taken for them to reach the trap was less than it took him to reach it. In other words, his top speed was less than theirs and that was after he had gotten his strange boost in abilities. He had just barely made it inside the village's walls before he heard the roar of pain from the new alpha.

Though not meant to withstand a siege, he had to admit Rowland had done a good job creating the defences around Blackbay village. The walls were made of logs of timber and were sturdy by themselves, but they had been arranged to cross each other to create a square pattern. A full-grown Warg could easily have scaled the four meter tall fence if it wasn't for the sharpened stakes protruding from the defensive fortification. Any enemy, Warg or human would be impaled by the stakes if they tried to rush the village and they would have difficulty climbing it since the stakes weren't long enough to grab onto and the random placement of the sharp objects. Considering the attack would most likely be a single wave and one filled with rage and bloodlust, he was sure the wall would take out at least one of the beasts. It was Scarface that was the problem.

He felt his hunger flare up again and he remembered that he hadn't eaten since the day before and had been scouting the forest for an entire night. He had eaten a large bowl of fish soup before he left, compliments of Rowland, but he had been in motion for hours and one meal over twelve hours ago was not enough to compensate for the energy he had spent so far. His stomach rumbled as it protested at the lack of food and he found himself in agreement with the demands it was making.

`_A large serving of fish soup does sound perfect right about now´_. He thought as he wandered about, searching for Rowland's tavern. He had been living here for a few days and even though the village was relatively small, he still found it strange to walk into the buildings. They all looked the same, with the same wood and design used in their making it was easy to understand. Even though the tavern and the church were larger than the other buildings it was enough to make him pause as to whether it was the right building. He had made the mistake of walking into the baker's house once and had seen the daughter of the owner in an adventurous situation with the son of the blacksmith. It was an experience would like to avoid in the future.

It was a shocking surprise though that the tavern and all the other houses were empty. Not a single person remained in the village, not even Rowland had stayed. He had been sure most of the villagers would leave, but he had never thought the large tavern owner would leave as well. The man looked like he was going to stay to avenge his family, but maybe the native didn't feel as brave when the danger was right at his doorstep. The thought of facing a pack of magical beasts was maybe too much for the aging man and he had decided to get out of harm's way while he could. Not that Shirou could blame him, he was terrified by the prospect of fighting them all at once as well. But if Rowland had escaped then did that mean Shirou would have to fight them all alone?

It wouldn't work. He could stand on the rooftops and snipe the Wargs as they crossed the fields, but the traps would only buy him so much time and he couldn't fire enough arrows to put them down if they were moving too fast. He could kill Papa Wolf and cripple Scarface, but that was because they were not expecting the attack in the first place. The Wargs would be expecting the traps now since he had placed them in the forest to delay them, but now they would be careful to avoid the traps on the fields. Could he kill ten Wargs and Scarface in the small amount of time it took for them to reach the village?

No, he couldn't. They were too fast for that and his arrows couldn't kill them instantly without striking the heart or the brain. They would shrug off anything else with that damn endurance they had. What was he going to do?

What could he do?

The sound of yelling put a stop to his thoughts of despair. Yelling in an empty village that was supposed to be abandoned? That wasn't right. Something was clearly wrong, something which had not gone according to plan.

Shirou reinforced his hearing, not caring about the high-pitched noise that accompanied the unusual application of magecraft. He felt his hopes rise as he heard the gruff whispering of the gruff tavern owner. He ran in the direction of the noise, adrenaline filling his body with energy even his newfound strength could not hope to match.

The docks came into sight and he saw the boats, three small fishing vessels worn down by the years of use and lack of resources to repair them. They looked like they were going to sink as soon as they went to sea, but Shirou had used his magecraft on them before. They might not look like much, but he had used reinforcement on them to withstand the weight better and to increase durability in harsh weather. He still doubted they would survive a storm though so he wasn't going to bet on one of them surviving a storm at sea.

And by one of the boats stood Rowland, throwing crates to one of the fishermen standing on the boat.

"Rowland!" He shouted and he felt a weight on his shoulders disappear when the man reacted at the name. He turned around, a scowl on his face that turned to a smile when he saw Shirou running towards him.

"I'm back!"

**AOB**

The bowl of soup didn't even have time to cool down before Shirou snatched it away from the table and started using the wooden spoon to pour the watery fish dish down his throat. The hot liquid burned his throat, but his stomach was too empty for him to care and heat had never been too much of a problem for him. It didn't even take him a minute before the bowl was empty and Rowland had to refill it with the boiling hot soup.

"So what did you find?" the older man asked the boy. Shirou chewed the small pieces of fish, cod perhaps, and swallowed. It had been so long since he had eaten. Well, twelve hours was a long time if the he had been in motion the entire time.

"Their den was a long way into the forest and their numbers were lower than what I thought. Right now the entire pack is more than ten and less than fifteen." The black Wargs were eleven including Scarface and then there were the two brown ones who had escaped. If they had survived the genocide the black faction had put them through that meant thirteen in total, but if there had been any Wargs out of the den at the time their numbers could be bolstered.

"Fifteen huh? What did you think of them?" Rowland asked.

"They are superior to humans in every way possible. Stronger, faster and larger and they feed on Mana and Od, they're like cheat codes in a videogames." Compared to ordinary humans, Wargs were like monsters meant to hunt humans. An ordinary magus wouldn't stand a chance while an enforcer might be able to beat them one-on-one. Kiritsugu had told him about the top enforcers the Mage's Association had. They might be able to defeat an entire pack of them, but Shirou alone didn't have that firepower.

"So not even you can beat them?" Rowland sighed in defeat. Not that he understood the reference to videogames, but anyone would understand from the context of their conversation that the Wargs were stronger than Shirou. To be told that their only hope of survival was weaker than their foe was probably something which hurt moral quite a lot. He had probably been counting on Shirou defeating them before they reached the village, to kill them all with his bow and arrow, but now he would be forced to actually fight them at close range was something that scared the old man.

Shirou frowned at the question. "I wouldn't say that. I might not be able to fight them all at once, but the normal Warg is just a beast. It's all brawn and no brain. As long as I keep my distance and fight with caution, I should be able to beat them. If you can keep the pack away from the gates then I can snipe them from the rooftops. I might not be a match in a straight out battle, but I know way to even the odds." Most of them required painful magecraft or traps, but he might be able to figure out a way to fight on even odds with a Warg with runes. The problem was he didn't have the knowledge or the experience to do it yet so until then he needed to keep his distance. The only reason he mentioned it was because Rowland needed the moral boost.

"By the way, why haven't you left yet?" Shirou asked.

The plan had been that the villagers who didn't want to fight would leave the village by boat once the sun had risen, but the sun was already up and the villagers were just now ready to set sail. It was a serious delay in schedule, one that could mean the death of the village if the Wargs were to ambush them and cut off their access to the docks.

Rowland scratched his beard and sighed. "Yeah, that's me fault. After you used your magic on the boats Ah tried to load the cargo up meself, but the weight was too much. After Ah got the village to help me out, the Wargs attacked and we were held up trying to get the baron to help us. It took a while before we could get to work and that's why we're only just now done with the preparations." He took a swig from his mug of ale and burped, the smell carrying over in Shirou's direction and he fought to keep his food down. Rowland didn't seem to notice that Shirou's face had gone a shade paler than usual, instead carrying on without pause. "You don't have some kind of miraculous cure for the ailments and injuries, do ya?" He said.

A cure for a ailments and injuries? "I don't think so." Shirou answered truthfully. He may know a few healing spells, but they were minor and only meant for first aid. Even so, his skill in using them left much to be desired. "My magecraft leans more to hurting people than fixing them. Why do you ask? Are the villagers sick or something?"

Rowland didn't answer immediately, instead he continued to scratch his beard with his dirty fingers covered in scars. "No reason, just nervous about the fight is all. Until now all we've done is hide from the freaks and only fought as a last resort when they attack us. Most of the time the only damage we do is scratches and most of us die. Now we're finally standing up for ourselves and Ah'm just wondering if you can heal us if we get hurt." The man said, the explanation sounding oddly rushed for some reason.

Shirou could relate to the man's words. He was wary of the evil monsters nearing the village by the second and he had magecraft to defend himself with. Rowland was a bartender/ tavern owner so he had little reassurance he was going to survive the battle. All he had was an old axe, one that looked like it had spent the last decade chopping wood rather than limbs. Not something you'd want to rely on in a battle, but considering the state of the village it was probably a better weapon than most of the inhabitants could get their hands on. Shirou had used reinforcement on it with Rowland's permission and added a few runes, but it still wasn't a weapon Shirou would like to use in a battle. It was the kind of axe you only used in emergencies, one you keep around for the sake of memories and on the possible chance of a zombie apocalypse occurring and you don't want to be left defenceless.

Zombies were a legitimate threat, ask anyone who has ever seen Taiga when she hasn't eaten breakfast yet.

He had done the same for some of the other villager's weapons, but so few of them had weapons made of metal he could carve the runes on. Bows could be carved on, but spears were harder. He could turn an axe into a mystic code, but he had never been able to practice with spears and pitchforks.

"I can heal minor injuries and treat more serious cuts, but if the wounds are too severe or far gone then I can't do anything. I can't cure things like diseases though so you'd need a magus that specializes in that sort of thing if that's what you're wondering. The biggest problem is that we won't have time to heal anyone when the Wargs arrive." The moment a Warg managed to get inside the fence, all hell would break loose. The villagers, the few who decided to stay, might be able to hold off one or two at best, but if they had to fight the Wargs inside and keep the Wargs from climbing the fence then they would be overrun. Rowland had said about twenty-five villagers had decided to stay in the end. With Rowland it would be twenty-six. The Wargs were twelve in total, counting Scarface. That meant it was roughly two villagers on every Warg, a number that was way too low if Shirou hadn't been there. The fence and the villagers would hold them, keeping them still in order for him to get a shot at them.

"If we can get the wounded ones inside the houses, would you be able to heal them after the battle?" the older man asked.

Shirou nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Though I don't know how much I can heal. Most of what I know is meant for first aid treatment. If you let the Wargs get too close and they get a hold of you then I don't think I can help you. My magecraft is too weak for that."

Rowland smiled and patted him on the back. "Don't you worry about that, lad. We're the people of Blackbay! We've been hiding away for too long, too afraid to stand up to our fears. At least, if we die tonight then we can say we stood tall in the end!"

Shirou was able to give a half-hearted smile at that. He didn't want anyone to die, but the way Rowland said gave him a little courage.

_I will save everyone! No matter what!_

His spoon hit the bottom of the bowl and he realized he had been eating during the entire conversation without realizing it. Rowland took the empty bowl and refilled with once more with steaming soup.

"So exactly what happened while I was gone? There was something more about the attack than you told me. What was it?"

The tavern owner froze and the ladle pouring the soup into the bowl shook a little. The man became stiff as a board and his back looked his spine had been replaced with an iron bar. It was an almost frightening change from the usual Rowland and Shirou himself was surprised by it.

"What do you mean, lad?" The man's voice was hard now, almost forced.

"I mean, you were delayed because of the baron, but the attack was at the baron's house. Why would the baron be attacked and survive and still manage to delay you this much?" Shirou's tone was curious, innocent. Not at all like Kiritsugu when he asked someone about something. So much was different about the father and son, but they still managed to act the same somehow. It was something Lili had told him was quite unnerving if they ever spoke to someone who knew them both. Like an unintentional good cop, bad cop-routine.

Rowland smiled though for some reason. As if he had dodged a bullet by the way Shirou had structured the question. "We were supposed to ask the baron's wife if she could help us, but she died in the attack. That was when we asked the baron to come with us, but we needed to convince him first. It took while and then we had to load the cargo of clothes and food. As you can see, we are just now finished with it all and we can set sail as soon as the Wargs are spotted. Everyone who is leaving is already on the boats and waiting for the bell to ring. The second Geoffrey rings the bell they are gone. Though Ah would've preferred if the baron had died and his wife survived, at least we could trust Lia somewhat. Charles is like a bag of snakes, you shouldn't trust him no matter what he says."

The confusing choice of words aside, Shirou thought about the attack. Rowland had said the Wargs had attacked the baron's home, but that they had only attacked the wife and child of the baron. Had they avoided the baron despite the fact that he was right in the next room?

"How many were there? The Wargs that attacked, I mean? And what did they look like?" Shirou asked in response. If they were part of the brown faction they might get killed by the black faction when they returned.

"Four of them, all black. The largest was covered in scars, the bloody fuck!" Rowland answered with fury in his voice, enough to startle Shirou who had begun to eat his thirdportion of soup with a delirious expression. He spilled some soup on his school uniform and grimaced at the stain it made. His clothes were really beyond any saving now. His shoes were covered in blood and his clothes were torn and stained in blood, dirt and sweat. It must have needed some soup to finish the list… wait?

"Okay." Shirou said. "Are you sure it was a black one with scars over his body. It wasn't just the dark playing tricks on you?" Rowland scowled once more. He did that a lot lately, what had happened while Shirou was gone? Was he really friends with the baron and felt saddened by the death of his friend's wife that much?

"Of course Ah'm sure. Ah know what Ah saw and Ah know that damn Warg anywhere. The damn thing tore my niece apart!" He slammed his mug of ale down at the table and the tavern echoed the sound.

Was Scarface the one who had killed Rowland's niece? Maybe Rowland would have liked to be there when he had shot the Warg's arm off? Nonetheless the Warg was coming back to Blackbay and it wasn't going to be happy. If Rowland saw the beast then he might put himself in danger, just to make sure he got to fight the damn monster.

Shirou shouldn't let him get even close to it, but what choice did he have? Scarface was coming to the village and the village happened to be the place where they were setting camp and holding out. Rowland and Scarface would end up meeting each other on the battlefield and such a meeting would only end in Rowland's death. It was an undeniable truth no matter what weapon or armour he wore and trying to keep Rowland from fighting him wouldn't be fair to the rest of the villagers. To let the rest of the village fight Scarface just so that Rowland wouldn't have to. He couldn't do that, not when the survival of the village was at stake.

But he couldn't let Rowland die either. The kind, but tough bartender was the only one who had helped him when he first got here and he even went so far as pay him for the meat Shirou brought in. Letting Rowland die just so the village could stay safe for a few seconds more wouldn't help anyone. Scarface wouldn't stop just because he fought and killed a single human, he would kill the entire village just because he could. The rage filled and malicious mind of the alpha couldn't be reasoned with, not after the way he had killed the offspring of the previous alpha. Scarface needed to die for the village to be safe and he needed to die before he met Rowland.

"What are thinking so hard about? Is it about the Warg? Did you see the ones who attacked last night?" The fury in Rowland's voice was replaced with eagerness, a desire for revenge. His eyes which had been clouded with revenge began to clear and his face looked more alive than it had during the entire conversation. Shirou was at loss on what to say. Should he reveal the truth and tell him the one who had murdered the man's niece was the alpha and had somehow become the strongest Warg in the pack or let him stay in the shadows and lie to him? Which option would help him the most?

"Yes." He answered finally. He couldn't lie to the man, not after what he had done for him. "The Warg is covered in scars and is large even for Warg's, right?" If he was lucky then the one which had killed Rowland's niece had been a small one and had been killed in the battle between them earlier. Lots of Wargs had scars, all over their body, right?

Right?

"Yeah, that's the one! It had a huge head, more like a dog than a wolf and it was over 2 meters tall. It stank too, like something had been dragged in dung and never washed. It was ugly and evil, the kind of monster that deserves to die." His hate shone through his words like a beacon and Shirou almost regretted telling him. Now all he had to do was to tell him it was twice its former size.

Wait, when Shirou saw it eat the corpse of Papa Wolf, had it been returning from the village?

"When did it attack, Rowland? And where in the village is the baron's house?" Shirou asked with anxiety.

The attack had occurred after Shirou had left, but the Wargs had managed to catch up to far too quickly for it to be the same group. And yet the Warg described by Rowland was the exact same Warg Shirou had seen devour the carcass of Papa Wolf. It would have been impossible for them to catch up to him so quickly. He had to cross rivers, mountains, bushes with thorns that could cut you up quicker than a sword. The forest was a maze designed to slow you down so it was ridiculous that the group of four would be able to reach the den faster than Shirou alone.

Unless they had a shortcut.

Of course they would have found a shortcut. They had been living in the forest for fifteen years, they would have scouted out every inch of the forest by this point. Even a beast without intelligence would have done that, it was simple instinct to know one's own territory. If the shortcut ended by the forest where Shirou had laid his traps then it would fine. If not…

"By the north-eastern part of the village, just a few hours after you left. Why?"

Shirou had laid his traps directly to the north, on the fields between the village and the forest.

Shit.

He didn't finish his last bowl of soup, instead he jumped off the chair and grabbed the falchion that had been lying on the table beside him. He wrapped the brown cloak around him and he hoped the runes he had sewn onto it hadn't lost any of their effect yet. He would need them since he wouldn't have the time to make any new ones.

"Oi, lad! The hell are you doing?!" Rowland yelled, surprised at the sudden motion.

Shirou motioned for him to follow with his hand while yelling behind him. "The Wargs have a shortcut that leads to the east. If they choose the shortcut then they will arrive in just a few minutes. Tell the guy by the bell to ring it, otherwise the boats won't have time to leave when the Wargs show up."

As soon as he was out of the tavern he reinforced his legs and jumped up on the roof of the tavern. The tavern was the second tallest building in the village. It had to be since it had to contain most of the village in the evenings, but Shirou didn't need the second tallest roof. He needed the tallest building in the village.

The church was built using wood and stone, a common design in the early middle ages. Compared to the skyscrapers of Tokyo or even Shinto it didn't hold a candle. The actual church hall wasn't that tall, only slightly higher up than the tavern, but the bell tower was more than twice the height of the rest of the houses. The stones, not bricks, had been piled on top of each other and Shirou was amazed that it didn't fall over in a strong wind. It was a seaside town after all, the winds were especially hard. It might have been because it really wasn't that high up and just his imagination, however even with that in mind, thirty meters in height was still high enough for him to hesitate before leaping. His reinforced legs didn't seem to care about his doubts though and he jumped.

The odd sensation was back again.

He almost overshot his aim. He had been aiming at the small window just below the iron bar meant for holding flags, but he was almost impaled by the rusty iron instead. He had to twist his body to avoid the sharp pole and hit the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs. In the last second he grabbed the iron bar and his gloves that Rowland had given prevented the sharp flakes of rust from cutting his hands.

"I really need to find out what is going on. I'm getting myself killed just climbing a tower." He told himself.

Heaving himself up on the pole, he felt the iron bend from his weight. He jumped to wards the roof of the bell tower to avoid falling down to the ground and was pleased as he gripped the solid wood and heard the sound of metal hitting stone and looked down. The iron pole had been stabbed into the ground with enough impact to stand up vertically. If he fell down now he would land on that thing and the whole battle would be over before it started.

"And someone really needs to fix this town. Everything is falling apart." When he was done with the fight, he was going to repair the things he broke. Or failing that, at least repair the bell tower. Or failing that, replace the flagpole he just broke.

It was settled, he was replacing the flagpole.

Climbing up on the roof, he looked out at the northern part of the village. The forest looked fine, the traps had not been disturbed except for one where a deer had been careless and wandered onto the fields. Neither the eastern nor the western directions showed any signs of the Wargs either. Had he worked himself up over nothing?

He let out a breath and the tension in his muscles disappeared, leaving a numbing feeling, like his bones had been replaced with rubber. He tried to sit down on the roof, but all he managed to do was to awkwardly collapse on the flat surface. It was a good thing the bell tower had a flat roof otherwise he would have fallen to his untimely death before the Wargs showed up.

"Oi lad, you up there?" The rough voice belonging to the tavern owner said. "You know you're gonna have to pay for that, right? Ah'm not covering for your arse, Ah got me tavern to worry about!" As if it was an afterthought, he added: "You see any Wargs up there?"

"No, not yet. I don't think they're close enough to be seen yet, otherwise they would have started attacking the boats. I think it'll take a while before they get here." Shirou shouted back, a little unnerved at how fast he had jumped to conclusions. Paranoia was not a fun thing, Kiritsugu had said, and it's a very easy thing to become paranoid when you spend your entire life preparing for a battlefield.

He started taking deep breaths to calm himself down, but his nerves were still one big mess. His muscles had been working too much lately, it felt like he had run a mile without breathing. The feeling of lactic acid creeping into his bones and making his legs sore was just the start of what he was feeling. Perhaps he had overestimated his own abilities? He had run as fast as he could from the den and even though he had used reinforcement, his body was still weak compared to an adults.

He needed to rest, to sleep. Rowland had a bed in the tavern, maybe he could catch some sleep before the Wargs show up? According to his calculations, he should still have thirty minutes left before…

An enormous roar was heard from the forest and he had to hold his hand s over his ears to to stop the pain that accompanied it.

…The Wargs showed up.

He didn't even need to reinforce his eyes to see the form of Scarface bursting out from the dense eastern forest, tearing down trees that blocked his now overgrown size. The speed that Papa Wolf possessed was gone and this lumbering behemoth was all that remained of him. Shirou blood turned to ice when he saw him. He had grown more since the last time they met, from a scary three and a half meters tall beast to a terrifying five meters tall monster. Even from afar, Shirou could tell the thing was not normal in any sense of the word, the way it clawed at the ground like a madman, the way it snapped at the smaller wargs who got too close to it. It fell to the ground as it got out of the forest and it flailed around for a second before it was up again and snarling at everything that looked remotely alive.

At first Shirou thought it was because Scarface had not yet grown accustomed to his new size, that his clumsiness and lack of mobility was the result of changing size too fast and his sense of balance was out of whack. The he got a look at his right arm, the one Shirou had blown off at the shoulder. It resembled an arm in the sense a baseball bat resembled a sword. The thing attached to Scarface's shoulder had no form or design, no defining musculature or bone structure. It was a long and thick slab of meat, maybe three times as large as its left arm, naked of any fur and attached to five long, curved claws at the end of it. From the looks of it, Scarface couldn't move his new limb as well as his old one, judging by the way he tried to support himself on it and the arm bent like rubber. He fell to the ground once more and the howling and snarling began anew.

It was a disturbing sight to see. Scarface might not have been the most elegant of wargs he had ever seen, but there had at least been some kind of hierarchical pride or dignity to him. It wasn't a civilized dignity in any way, but the way he lead his pack, even if it was on a genocide on his fellow wargs, gave him a sense of charisma in a certain sense of the word. To have the alpha reduced to a mad snarling beast was an unnerving even as he realized he was the reason for the change.

The arm was disfigured and useless as a support for his body and Shirou was quite honestly amazed he had made it to the village as fast as he did. The fact that the entire limb had been regenerated on the way was impressive, but the appearance of the arm meant something was wrong. The muscles looked bright red and inflamed, perhaps a sideeffect of having to regrow a limb so fast, but the scratches on the arms were bleeding profusely and looked like they were made from claws and teeth and not from branches and thorns. The ill-fitted arm must hurt the owner, if the frothing at the mouth was any indication.

His normal arrows wouldn't hurt him though, not at the size he was now. The hide wargs possessed made it difficult for his arrows to hurt him and the only reason they had killed Papa Wolf was because he had fired them with his fae-bow. But he doubted a few pieces of wood and some sharpened steel was going to hurt the oversized werewolf-ish creature. He would need to use his kinetic arrows to hurt him at the very least, or something more deadly to put him down.

"Rowland, get the villagers ready to fight!" Shirou screamed at the man. He grabbed the side of the roof and swung down, his own weight accelerating his descent. Instead if falling straight down, he swung into the window to the belfry. His momentum made him head straight to the bell and just before he struck it, he kicked his legs out in an improvised dropkick. The sound of the bell ringing filled his head and he winced at his growing headache.

He was really glad Raiga had taken him to see western wrestling that one time instead of sumo. It might have been fake, but at least he had learned how to dropkick something.

The bell had been the signal for the boats to leave. Now that the bell had rung, the villagers would set sail and head to sea, far enough for the wargs not to reach them. The rocks and the current would stop even Scarface if they tried to pursue them too far. He might have grown too large for Shirou's arrows to affect him, but at least he wouldn't be able to catch the fleeing villagers. All the wargs would be able to do was attack the village itself.

The village the wargs were advancing on right now.

Shit.

Climbing back up on the roof once more, he materialized the bow into his hands. The oversized black bow almost twice his size and he needed to reinforce his entire upper body to use it. The arrows in the quiver by his hip might not work on Scarface, but they would have to kill a few of his offspring at least. They had managed to kill Papa Wolf so a few pups barely a meter and a half wouldn't be too much of a challenge.

Scarface and his offspring were less than a kilometre away, Scarface lagging behind his children due to his crippled arm. A kilometre was further away than any normal bowmen would have been able to reach, let alone strike accurately. For Shirou it would have been a challenge under normal circumstances, had he not been using magecraft. They had arrived from the north-eastern parts of the forest, out of the way of Shirou's traps. That couldn't be allowed to continue.

He drew the bow and released five arrows in quick succession. Unlike the crossbows or the muskets, the biggest drawback when it came to the bow was the training required when using it. If the archer already had the training and experience then the bow was faster than either at launching projectiles. A good archer, without reinforcement or a magical bow, could accurately fire an arrow every ten seconds. Training could reduce that time. Magecraft could definitely reduce that time. The speed of drawing the bow and notching the arrow could take a normal archer seconds while a magus with reinforced limbs could do it in less than half. Likewise in aiming at the target, as the sight of a magus could be several times more detailed than a civilian.

So for Shirou who had been practicing archery for years and had trained in using reinforcement, firing five arrows in twenty seconds was not impossible. The first arrow struck the skull of the warg the furthest to the east, the sharp metal cutting straight through its brain and killing it instantly. The rest of the pack noticed the death of its comrade and looked up to avoid further projectiles. Just in time to see the second arrow pierce the throat of the warg who had been the second closest to the east, the arrow slicing through the soft flesh easier than bone and nailing the beast to the ground, the windpipe having been pierced.

The rest of the arrows were shot in the same direction, striking the wolves closest to the east. The wargs might not be the most intelligent creatures to walk on the surface of Gaia, but they did have an instinctual fear of death to a certain extent. If the comrades to your left were being killed by arrows striking your left side, you would not want to be next, would you? So in response to Shirou's assault on the eastern flank, the wargs moved west to avoid being showered by sharp steel-covered projectiles.

This helped Shirou on two accounts. First, if the wargs were running diagonally instead of straight, it would give him more time to kill them since it would take them more time to reach the village and decrease the amount of damage they would do to the fence. A single warg the villagers might be able to handle together, two with Shirou's help, but if the entire pack reached the village then the villagers would be sitting ducks in a pond surrounded by a barbed fence. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

The second advantage was the direction they were running in. When the first warg let out a loud whine and fell, the rest of the pack didn't pay it much attention. Falling and getting hurt was nothing major, but when the whining continued and the smell of blood invaded their sensitive noses, they had to slow down and pay attention to what was happening.

The warg which was whining had stepped on one of Shirou's traps and instead of being simply trapped like the bear traps Shirou had based the design on, the limb had been severed at the wrist. As the injured warg had stumbled on the ground, it had fallen on more of the hidden traps and the sharp metal had sliced off muscle and bone as if the warg had been any ordinary creature of natural origins. Gone was the image of apex predator and instead was a mindless beast capable of dying…

Capable of being killed…

The rest of the pack had slowed down marginally now. Their original numbers of nine had decreased to six and they hadn't even crossed a third of the distance yet. Even a beast without intelligence would stop at such odds. But they were not allowed to pause. The moment it looked as if they were hesitating, Scarface released a roar, one powerful enough to shake the tower Shirou was standing on. The wargs that had started to slow down picked up their speed again, fearing what would happen if their alpha managed to catch up to them. Between the threat of a human archer and an alpha-warg on steroids, the canine beasts probably thought Shirou wouldn't be able to kill them if they got inside the village. They were probably right, if they all got into the village then Shirou might not be able to kill them all alone.

Except he wasn't alone.

Nor did he intend to let them reach the wall at all.

"Trace on."

He drew an arrow from the quiver on his hip and focused. His reinforcement and projection might get him through this, but if Scarface kept hounding them then they could hurt the villagers. He needed something more.

Alteration was the third form of magic he could use, the problem was the result. His emphasis was on simple arrows and lethality, but now he needed to take them out as fast as possible, but ordinary arrows only carried two concepts at most. The wind arrows could take out a single warg, but when they were close together he couldn't lose the opportunity to kill them all. He needed something that cut through air, packed a punch and released a blast that could kill several beasts at once. His kinetic arrows, wind arrows and fire arrows could do one of those, but he needed all of them, therefore he needed to spice things up.

The result; an arrow that was longer than the rest, but carried more concept than the normal ones. The entire arrow was carved with runes and the arrowhead was twisted along the entire shaft of the arrow to leave more room for further enchantment. It resembled a dagger more than an arrow, but the effect was more important than appearances.

He notched the arrow and drew the string back. The wargs had stopped running in loose formation, instead sticking close to each other in a tight group that would make Kiritsugu weep if he ever saw how much of an easy target they made. He filled the arrow with prana and overclocked its performance. It was a projection, not a real mystical code so he didn't need to worry about repairing it. Disposable items were much better than permanent ones that way.

He released it and the arrow flew.

Had he been feeling sorry for the wargs, he might have reacted when the arrow exploded. Granted, it was a big if, but he still wanted to believe he might have reacted when he saw the effect the arrow had on the enemy. The arrow had struck the group and the one it had hit died instantly, the three caught in the explosion dying a slower and more painful death. If a newcomer saw what was happening and didn't know the story behind it they might call him a monster, especially if they saw him sigh at the result.

He didn't react though, save for that small sigh. The wargs had killed people for fifteen years and they showed no remorse or even regret over what they had done. They were monsters more than he would ever be, he thought even as he notched another arrow, this time a normal arrow.

In terms of effectivity it wasn't a success. He had spent too much time and od on the arrow for it to be counted as such. Had Kiritsugu used a rocket launcher it would have had more effect than his `RPG´-arrows (he really needed to think of a name for his weapons. He still hadn't given his bow a name yet, he had just been calling it a fae-bow). The kinetic force the arrow had collected in its flight was supposed to turn into firepower and together with the wind spells turn the immediate area into a firestorm capable of taking out the entire pack in a single stroke. His calculations had been accurate, it was merely his own ability that had failed him. The magic crest on his chest may have given him the ability to use spells of other elements, but his skill in using them was sorely lacking. That and he still hadn't grasped alteration, much less mastered it well enough to create an arrow on the spot capable of killing a pack of magical beasts from the middle ages.

Still the fact remained that only two warg remained plus their alpha, Scarface. Even the overgrown parent had stopped now and was looking at the bell tower with a wary expression, the instinct of a wild animal overriding the fury his limited intelligence was capable of. They were almost three-hundred meters away now, a distance that would take the slower alpha a minute to reach. Shirou could trace one more `RPG´-arrow in the time it took him to reach the village, but the smaller, more agile wargs would reach the village before he could do finish the projection. He could fire several smaller arrows on the smaller wargs, but that would mean Scarface would be able to attack the village and Shirou ordinary arrows wouldn't bother him unless he was struck in the eye, a feat Shirou wasn't certain he would be able to accomplish even with reinforced eyes.

"Oi, lad! They're coming in from the north as well!" Rowland yelled.

Shirou's head snapped to the northern part of the forest. Sure enough, two smaller black wargs were advancing over the field of traps. They weren't running due to fear of what had happened to their comrade, instead they were slowly walking across the fields, sniffing out his traps Shirou had placed. Shirou looked back to Scarface and the large behemoth seemed to be smiling. Had he planned this? Impossible! Just because the wargs possessed primitive intelligence did not mean they could create elaborate plans and tactics. Scarface might have grown in size, but his intelligence shouldn't have increased in proportion.

But the way the monster was slowly walking towards the village meant he was taking advantage of Shirou's hesitation to fire at either group. Trace an arrow to shoot at Scarface and the smaller wargs would reach the village. Fire at the smaller wargs and Scarface would have time to reach the village before Shirou could trace an arrow capable of killing him. Focus on Scarface group and the three wargs over the fields would attack. Focus on the group over the field and Scarface's group would attack.

Scarface could not have made this plan, it had to be someone else. He had seen the eyes of the black beast and there had not been any sign of higher intelligence other than basic instincts, barely higher than the average animal. He had seen the way Scarface had desecrated the bodies of their fellow wargs, destroying them with spite just to get to the prana held within. The black alpha was not smart enough to hatch a plan capable of forcing the enemy to split their attention, not in a million years.

Although… when Shirou had seen the wargs in their den, something about Scarface had seemed different. He had not been mauling his prey like he had Papa Wolf; he had methodically been eating piece by piece. Had the prana he received from Papa Wolf really enabled his intelligence to grow enough for him to develop strategic abilities? If it did then it meant Shirou could not let him leave this place alive. A supersized warg with higher intelligence would spell the end of the country as people knew it.

"Get to the northern wall and defend against the wargs coming from there! Don't let them climb the wall and get into the village, alright? Use spears and pitchforks to stick them through the fences…" He yelled down to Rowland, but still keeping his eyes fixed on the group from the eastern front.

"Yeah, yeah, we got laddie! You just keep your arrows on the dark one over there." If Shirou could see the tavern owner he was sure he would see the aging man scowling at the enormous warg which just hours earlier had attacked and killed villagers in Blackbay. It must have taken all he had not to rush off to face the killer of his family as it stood just a few hundred meters away from him.

"And keep an eye out for more wargs, if I missed those wargs I might have missed more. He could have laid out several groups to ambush the village in several directions." If Scarface was smart enough to corner them in two directions, what's to say he wouldn't try to corner them in three?

"Right! Geoffrey, take Robert and John and guard the western side. Yell if you see any wargs coming from the forest from that direction. We might be a bit busy over here so you'll have to yell loudly." The sound of feet trampling on frozen mud was heard heading west, or at least what he assumed was west, and Shirou made up his mind on what to do.

He traced the RPG-arrow (Maybe he should name his bow after some legendary weapon, like Ichaival or Cupid's bow-and-arrow?) and the moment he did, Scarface and the smaller wargs rushed the village.

He tried speeding the process up even though he knew the effect would suffer from the lack of detail. He didn't need an explosion that enveloped smaller wargs, he needed something that could kill a single one. An arrow that could kill an alpha larger than a bus.

The RPG-arrow was finished and the smaller wargs were little less than fifty meters away from the wall. He didn't think about shooting them with the longer arrow, the mystic code capable of exploding was meant for Scarface. Instead he reached for the smaller arrows and notched one, the wind whirling around it as he poured prana into it. Overclocking an arrow with a single element wasn't hard, it just didn't do much more than what it already did. An arrow with the wind increasing its speed and cutting power was just as good as an arrow with wind increasing its speed _a little more than usual_ and its cutting power_ a little more than usual_ as well in most cases, but it right now he really need that _little more than usual_.

The wind arrow left the fae-bow (It didn't sound very good, did it? The Fae-bow?) and had it not been covered in runes to decrease air resistance then it might make a noise as it tore through the air and probably broke through the sound barrier. The projectile traveling at speeds higher than even modern firearms didn't even have visible trajectory, even for Shirou's reinforced eyes. All he could see was the result of its impact.

The smaller warg had been racing across the field and thanks to Shirou's earlier volley, it had been running in front of the other warg to avoid the traps he had laid out. The arrow had been traveling straight towards the warg in front and the speed and cutting power the wind lent it made it possible for it to simply penetrate the skull and travel along the spine of the beast and exit the backside.

Straight into the second warg's skull.

Just like it had done before, the arrow simply cut straight through the wargs body and leave in a similar way. The offspring of Scarface collapsed, their brains having been destroyed. Scarface himself was a few dozen meters behind them and although he had seen what had happened, Shirou didn't give him time to pause.

He took the arrow he had traced earlier and notched it, the longer shaft of the arrow making it slightly harder to aim. Even though Shirou was suing reinforcement to increase his strength, the fact remained that his arms were still that of fourteen year old boy. He couldn't draw the bow back entirely and because of it his arrows had to be shorter than they could have been, lacking runes they could have possessed, lacking abilities they could have used. Shirou's short stature had been something he had complained about for years due to the fact that he still lost to Taiga despite his recent increase in skill. Taiga's pure physical endurance and strength was simply too much for the small child to compete against without using magecraft to boost his abilities.

Now he didn't care about that. He didn't care that his arrows were weaker than they might have been had he been a few decimetres taller or the fact that he needed to magecraft to even use the bow at all. He didn't care about the imperfections in arrow made it fragile as he pumped it full of prana and prone to random explosions.

Nor did he care about the fact that he was most likely going to die if the arrow missed.

Drawing the string back as far as he could, he let it go and despite the runes on the arrow making it so the wind was avoiding it and making it as silent as possible, he could still hear the whistle of the arrow as it tore through the air and penetrating whatever small creature or bug in its way simply by the force it carried.

Scarface was most certainly not a small creature nor was he a bug. Even in his for before he grew to outlandish proportions had he been a large warg, a creature of mythical origins. After having devoured the prana stored in the previous alpha's body, he had increased in size and power. To be compared to animals without any magical properties, had he been capable of higher intelligence he might have felt anger at the insult. As it stood however, he was simply furious over the attack on his person in his own territory.

It still didn't help him much as the mystic code Shirou had created with an abundance of od and covered in runes to increase lethality impacted on his chest with enough power to blow him back a few meters. The explosion had not been as large as the one the previous arrow had created, but it had been made to kill a single warg, not a group of them altogether. The fire, shrapnel and the shockwave had worked together to create a large smoking and bleeding wound on Scarface's chest that exposed bone, muscle and organs. Had Shirou not been used to blood and gore, he would have emptied his stomach at the sight of the bleeding wound.

A wound that was rapidly healing itself shut.

Scarface let out a row as he wailed and thrashed around. The sound of it made Shirou cringe and his growing migraine kicked up a notch as the pounding increased. He let out a grunt at the pain and resisted the urge to cover his ears for protection against the racket Scarface was making. He'd have to let go of his weapon, an action Kiritsugu would have beaten him over during a spar. Instead he ignored the pain, ignored the wet sensation that was running down his neck and onto his shoulders. He ignored the wetness in his ears and the pain in them. He had done something similar years ago, it shouldn't be so hard to repeat the act. To make it easier he focused on his opponent.

What should have killed even a warg was healing at a speed Shirou was amazed to see and almost unable to believe, and even in his tortured state he couldn't help but to be amazed. How was he doing that? The speed the wound was closing at should have been impossible for even wargs. He had seen Papa Wolf fight and the wounds inflicted on the former alpha had not closed. The blood had stopped abnormally quickly for the former alpha and he didn't even seem to notice them, but they had not healed. Not like this. He tried focusing on what was happening and his eyes widened as he realized just what Scarface was doing.

Scarface was absorbing the Mana in the air and using it to heal himself. A smart idea, only it was obviously not working like it should. The ribs weren't looking like ribs anymore. They had branched off to look like a spiderweb over his chest, penetrating the muscles and organs that the ribcage was supposed to protect under normal circumstances. The muscles were acting in a similar manner, crisscrossing each other instead of attaching at the end of two bones as their function would imply, creating a net of bizarrely connecting muscles that would hamper the body as much as they would help it. As black inflamed and furless skin began to cover the wound, Shirou began to understand the reason Scarface was in so much pain and why the regeneration was incomplete and wrong for a lack of better words.

"It doesn't look like he can control the Mana he's absorbing." The Mana that all wargs fed on apparently did help them recover better than humans, but Scarface had grown immensely in the last few hours. It would be a pipe dream to think he would be able to control his new body completely. His internal system would be in disarray and the larger he was the more amount of Mana he would be able to absorb. Right now the Mana in his body was going out of control and without the necessary control to focus the prana properly, control a wild beast would obviously be lacking, the magical energy was following the instinctual orders in name only.

Healing the body was easy.

Healing the body properly was not.

As Shirou traced another RPG-arrow (or should it be Bow-Propelled-Grenade?) he didn't notice the warg reach out with its good arm and grab its offspring's corpses. He did however notice when the alpha took a large bite out of the smaller wargs body. A large bite in Scarface's case being its entire upper body. In a single motion, Scarface had ripped the head, arms chest and spinal cord from the lower body of the warg.

He drew the bowstring and was about to let the arrow fly when a warg tackled him off the roof.

"Damn it!"

The roar that echoed throughout the village was not only from pain…

But also from victory.

**AOB**

Rowland was a smart man, he had to be. Having been raised in a family of merchants meant he had learnt how to count and plan out in advance to gain the most profit of a single voyage. Having to deal with lords and kings on his travels meant his political navigation was capable of making even Charles, his former best friend, admit he would have made a good noblemen. The baron of Hastings had said once that Rowland was wasting his time as a traveling merchant and should just join his household as a Master of Coin. They could rule the entirety of Britannia through the coin if Rowland would join him.

It might have been the way Rowland had laughed in his face that made Charles hate him so.

Not like he could have helped it. Charles might have been older than him, but he had been raised as a noblemen's son and had little idea of what truly rules a kingdom or what it meant to try and rule everything through debt. As a man who had spent his life getting everything he wanted, getting a no from his friend and subject had been a major blow to his pride and had probably been the start of their feud. Marrying Rowland's niece had probably been done out of spite rather than out of love, or even lust. The man had not shown any tendencies to the physical side of desire and had spent most of his time trying to get the most copper of the silver brought in to Blackbay. What little gold they did get in was probably hidden from the books at all cost.

Why was Rowland reminiscing about the past and his friendship with the baron?

Because the next time he saw Charles Distray he was going to shove his face in a cauldron full of boiling fish soup!

He had warned the lad about the wargs from the northern forest and had gone with the majority of the villagers to fight them off. The traps had made them cautious of the fields and had slowed them down to a crawl, but one of them had messed up and gotten it foot cut off. The other had its eye penetrated by an arrow, courtesy of old man Jon. The old fart had managed to fire off a few good shots and the hide of the beasts were covered with arrows making the monsters whine as they were hit by the arrows.

Unfortunately the wargs had managed to reach the wall at last and Rowland and the other had to step in and stop them from climbing the defensive fortification.

Which was easier said than done.

"Stab it quickly, use the pitchforks!" Rowland yelled at the rest of the villagers. His axe was tied to his belt and he was holding a hastily made spear. It was nothing, but a piece of wood with a tip dipped in metal and which had been sharpened. He was repeatedly thrusting it into the belly of the beast as it tried to climb the wall. The damned hide was resistant to his attacks though and all he managed to do was scratch it enough to draw a small amount of blood. Not enough to kill, far from it, but it was enough to push it off the wall it was trying to climb. The fence-like build of the barrier made it easy to stick the spear through the gap of it, but he had to jump back as the warg stuck its large arm through as well and gripped the head of Jon, who had by now grabbed a spear to join the mob and was standing next to him. The poor man was pulled to the hole in the wall and the snout of the beast was small enough to squeeze inside and in a flurry of motion, the villager's face had been eaten in a manner of seconds. Blood splattered everywhere as the jaws of the monster closed around the man's face and his skull was crushed. Screams of fear and despair erupted from the small army as the dead body of their friend tumbled down in a twitching pile. The hand disappeared and the owner of it started climbing again.

Only one of the wargs had tried to scale the wall yet. The warg which had lost its hand to one of the lad's traps had not tried to climb the wooden fortification and was limping along the wall, most likely trying to find gaps in the recently built fence. A small group of people was following it and making sure they knew where it was. If the foul demon managed to make it inside to the village then it could trap them between the wall and itself. Even with one hand, a warg was more than a match for a human. If it managed to enter the village then the folk of Blackbay would lose courage faster than their guts would be ripped out. The wall gave them a sense of security and bolstered their courage enough to face the wargs, but only if the wall remained between them. Should the wall fall or the wargs get inside then they would be doomed unless the lad saved them.

While the weaker old people dragged the body of their friend away, Rowland took the spear in his hands and tried to stab it into the throat of the fiend. Once more the spearhead bounced of the hide of the beast and only left a scratch which was slowly filled with blood. The black wargs let out a growl at the almost insignificant injury, one of the several dozen it had acquired since the start of the battle.

Rowland was about to take the spear back when the jaws of the warg snapped around it, stopping him in mid-action. He tried to yank it back, but the musculature in the jaw of the warg was much too strong for a human to overpower it. The spear was ripped out of his hands and crushed as the warg put pressure on the makeshift weapon. The arm that had grabbed the now-dead Jon emerged from the opening once more, this time aiming for Rowland. He dropped down, his knees hitting the frozen mud as he did, and ripped the axe from the holster he had it in. As the arm swung once more in search for prey, Rowland swung the axe straight towards the clawed hand.

The axe he was wielding was not the best axe around. He had bought it years ago, when he was still a merchant and had a ship to use. The journey to a certain town was supposedly filled with bandits and even though he paid the guard plenty to accompany him, the little rats ran away as soon as they were told where they were headed. In the end, Rowland and his brothers had to make the journey alone. In order to do so they had to arm themselves with weapons and Rowland had chosen the axe. While his brothers had chosen expensive armour and weapons, Rowland had chosen a fairly cheap battle axe. The blade was steel, a cheap mix between several metals that barely counted as steel anymore if the price was any indication and the blade had warped with age and wear. He had used it to chop wood after the invasion when all but two of his brothers died and his boat had burned down, destroying any chances of him becoming a merchant again and removing any reason for him to use it as a weapon.

Now however the needed to use it to fight and it sure as hell didn't disappoint. The blade which the lad had enchanted sliced through the arm like the hide wasn't even there. Hide, muscle sinew and bone was severed in a single second, leaving only a red, bleeding stump where there had been claws just seconds earlier. The wargs let out a series of pained snarls and growls, reminiscing of an axe meeting the whetstone before it charged the wall in revenge. It jaws snapped as it tried to squeeze its massive head through the small gaps in the woodwork. Rowland jumped back to avoid the fangs the beast was snapping at him, even though he stood a meter out of harm's way already. Seeing his chance he spun the grip on the axe, bringing the spike forward instead of the blade.

And then he swung the axe down the foul demon's head.

The enchanted axe made short work of the warg. The spike met the skull of the wolfish beast and the bone shattered under the force. Blood erupted from the wound, the sheer power behind the swing splattering the crimson liquid over his clothes and face. The spike sank into the skull and the brain inside it until the spike was buried to the wood. The warg stopped squirming and started to twitch as he tried to rug the axe out of the wargs head. Each time the axe moved the body of the beast gave a short twitch, as if the metal tickled it brain. In the end he grabbed the warg by the fur and ripped the axe out of the skull.

As he lifted the axe from his now dead enemy, he stopped to take a look at what the lad had done. The weight of the axe had all but disappeared and he could feel a small breeze coming from the blade and the spike from it. Runes covered the metal, sharp and straight figures that made no sense to him, but they followed a line and he guessed it was tied to the sudden sharpness of the steel. When he was chopping wood, the head of the axe would get stuck in the log and he had to try several times just to get a single piece of wood small enough to use as firewood. Now it looked like he could cleave rocks in half with it.

"Did… Did you kill it?" William said, fear evident in his voice. The short and timid man had never been one for the frontlines so he had been surprised when the weak tanner had volunteered for staying in the village. Most of the men here had probably only stayed because they didn't want to be known to have fled when Weak-willed William had fought in a last stand. For stronger men to have cowardly fled the battle while the man who handled dung and faeces every day stood brave and fought would probably ruin their reputation for generations.

"Ah think so, don't know any creatures that could survive a swing of me axe. Not unless they can grow more heads like a hydra, but the lad said they don't so, yeah, it's dead." Rowland answered.

Will sighed in relief, but stopped in the middle of it. "Hold on, where is the other…?" He didn't get to finish the question. A shout, coming from the western parts of the village, interrupted him instead.

"Rowland! Hurry! Over here!" Came the panicked voice of Geoffrey. The panic was so clear Rowland felt himself sigh at the sound of it.

He started running in the direction of it and the mob behind him followed. Everyone was carrying some sort of weapon, be it spears, pitchforks, axes knives or even sticks which served as clubs. The sight of fifteen people running in the direction of the shout made it look like they were going to lynch someone instead of helping them. They ran across the village in search of Geoffrey, the childish prankster needing their help becoming apparent by the look of the fence when they arrived.

Two wargs were behind the fence and snapping their jaws and swiping their claws through the gaps. One of them was the crippled one who had triggered the lad's trap and lost its left hand for it. It was avoiding the spikes of the wall and while pressing its head in the gaps of the fence in a desperate attempt to claim the limb of any humans foolish enough to get close to it. Two men were holding weapons, one a fishing spear and the other an axe, and would routinely attack it as soon as it tried climbing or squeezing through one of the small holes. When the spear or the axe touched its wounded arm, it howled and snapped its jaws at the offender who had to jump back to avoid the mouth full of teeth.

The other warg was trying to climb the fence as they arrived, but a larger group of four was stabbing it whenever they could. The healthy warg was obviously a larger threat that required more attention as instead of simply pushing it down, the villagers were aiming at the soft spots of the animal like the throat, mouth and eyes. One of the monster's eyes had been gouged out and the neck of it was covered in in red gashes, enough to make it look like a large red collar instead of actual wounds. The blood flowed down its chest as it tried again and again to climb up the wall, but was repelled at every chance it got. Geoffrey stood with the smaller group and when he saw Rowland he waved for him to get closer. When the mob that Rowland brought joined with the groups fighting the wargs, Geoffrey told Rowland what had happened.

"A warg got in!" he said in a hurried whisper. Rowland drew in a breath at the news.

"What?! How?"

"I'm…We were guarding the wall when two wargs showed up at the forest. We were gonna call for you, but then the one-armed one showed up and we had to hold them off. One of them climbed up and that's when I yelled for you. It ran into one of the buildings and we tried to look for it, but it keeps hiding and trying to catch us off-guard. Bolson and Clifton were dragged off by it and we couldn't follow or else the wargs on the other side would get in." The fisherman explained.

That was not good, not good at all. A single warg would tear them to pieces without the enchanted weapons the lad gave them. Aside from Rowland, the only people who had magical weapons were Geoffrey, Bolson and Robert. One of them was now dead so that meant his weapon should be close by.

"Where did his knife land?" Rowland asked. Bolson had kept the knives the Saxons used in the invasion and had decided to use it against the wargs. He had the lad help him enchant the damn thing too, as if he couldn't use an axe like the rest of them did. The damn thing was shorter than a sword so it would probably have been useless against a warg in close combat, but a magic weapon was still better than the rusty junk the group was forced to make do with, especially now that Rowland and Geoffrey had to split from the main group. If he and Geoffrey left with two of the weapons then the last two would have to remain with the larger group to keep the wargs at bay.

"He had it in his belts when they were dragged off. I told him to take it out, but he wouldn't listen, said they were too busy worrying about the two on the other side of the wall." Geoffrey said, gripping his own axe until his hands were white.

"Bloody titsucking wanker, can't he do anything right? Alright then, Walter, Edmund, Gregory come with me and Geoffrey. Robert and the rest of you, keep those wargs outside the fence. You let one of them in and you better hope it kills you, 'cause Ah'm going to bash you skull in myself if it doesn't! Robert, you know what to do." He yelled and was greeted with the sound of several villagers thrusting spears into the flanks of the wargs, drawing a furious roar from the beasts.

Walter and Edmund were brothers, the only people who knew how to build and repair boats in the village. They were large and muscular, good to have around if the wargs got too close to you. Gregory, on the other hand, was not as large, but he knew his way around a spear. One of the few people who survived the invasion while fighting, he was probably the only one who had any actual experience on a battlefield.

All three of them paled when they heard what they were going to do.

"Shouldn't we take more men then? Just the five of us won't be able to do anything against a warg." Edmund said with fear. The man was holding his pitchfork so tightly against his body, Rowland was amazed he hadn't managed to skewer himself. It sure as hell looked like he was about to.

"The rest needs to keep the wargs at bay and keep guard against the third one. We need to drive it out of the houses and kill it, before it reaches the lad. If it hurts the lad and lets the big one into the village then we can kiss our sorry arses farewell. So Geoffrey, you are…"

An enormous noise echoed throughout the village and human and warg alike stopped in frozen shock at the mysterious sound. It had been like thunder, except the sky was clear with only a few grey clouds at sea over the three ships filled with women and elderly. The ground shook in relation to the thunderous roar and Rowland could hear the bell in the tower start to ring in response.

Whatever kind of magic the lad had used in order to summon that kind of thunder, it was followed by the strangest sound he had ever heard. Loud growls mixed in with the whines of a dog was heard, a blend he had never thought could be so deafeningly loud. He felt as if a dagger was slowly being shoved into his skull and stirred around to make is hurt as much as possible. What on God's green earth was capable of making such a screech? He covered his ears in an attempt to block out the sound, but it barely made a difference. The screech flooded his head and he felt his mind slip away into almost blissful sleep. But then the noise stopped and he started thanking God for the small mercy.

Then the screaming started.

Only this wasn't the insane retching of a soulless demon, instead it was the screams of humans being torn to pieces in a one-sided slaughter. The frightened cries of men being crushed by jaws capable of enveloping their heads, the begging of men who had their throats torn and windpipes ripped. This was the death throes of humans…

Humans who were inside the village….

People were dying inside the village….

He pushed himself up from the ground, his headache pounding as he did so. He felt his ears and discovered blood running down the sides of his head.

`_Ignore it.´_ a voice in his head said, _`You need to stay strong for now.´_

The wargs outside the barrier were still there, the one-armed one incapable of climbing and the healthy one still being held up by the majority of the villagers. They weren't the ones who had been slaughtering the villagers, they were still being tormented by spears and pitchforks through the gaps. They were not the ones he needed to worry about right now, he needed to find the one who had escaped. He needed to kill it, to make sure it was safe for the lad.

To make sure his family was revenged.

The screams didn't stop and he turned in the direction they came from. He felt like his legs had lost all their muscles and he was a hundred years older, but he continued looking. A single step made him almost lose his balance and he had to use the axe to stay upright. Whatever the scream the behemoth had used was, it had destroyed his senses. It must have been some sort of curse, a foul bewitchment or hex that robbed men of their strength and turned them into powerless prey. The thought of having been killed because of magic some evil monster possessed made his blood boil and he let out a growl, one not so unlike the sound the wargs let out.

He was going to kill them, every single bloody one of them. He was going to kill them, chop off their heads, skin their lifeless bodies and turn their hides into boots, their fur into coats, and their pelts to blankets. No more fish soup or vegetable stew, from now on he was going to feast on warg meat.

And it would be glorious.

The screams of his dying friends brought his senses back to the present. The warg was visible now, even though his vision was still blurry. The black monster was holding a villager in his clawed hands and his jaws were sunk deep into the man's shoulder. The blood from several other villagers covered the head of the beast and even more started coating the fur as the warg tore the man in its jaws apart. The screams of the villager, Gregory perhaps, increased in volume as the warg reared its head up, still clasped onto the shoulder of the villager, but disappeared as the lungs of the man were punctured and mangled under the teeth of the monster. The man finally went limp as the blood necessary for life left his body to pool on the ground.

Rowland didn't hesitate to charge the larger beast. At a height of over two meters, the monster towered over Rowland's height. It must have been one of the largest wargs in the attack since no other warg looked even half as menacing as it did at the moment. Add the bulking muscles, armoured hide, knifelike claws and a mouth full of vicious fangs and Rowland's rush to the beast looked more suicidal by the second. Not even suicidal even, it seemed more ridiculous than anything else. A human with no armour or training should think of challenging the monstrosity before him, not without an army between them to weaken it first. Armed with only an axe which had seen better days, the notion of killing the magical beast seemed more impossible than bringing the dead back to life. The black beast must have thought so as well, because it threw the corpse in its hands to the ground and started walking in Rowland's direction, raising its massive right paw to skewer him on its claws. Rowland raised his axe in response to the demon's attack and swung at its head.

As ludicrous as it should have looked, the warg must have sensed something was wrong. Perhaps it was simply survival instinct or caution at the smell of a warg's blood on the axe head or maybe it was simply humouring him, but the warg chose to avoid the axe heading straight for its skull. It changed its footing impossibly fast and the axe barely missed its mark. No, that was wrong, it did strike, just not where Rowland had intended. The axe cleaved into the shoulder of the warg, cutting and crushing the bone and muscles underneath it. The hide which had protected it from ordinary blows from spears and daggers did nothing against the magic axe. As Rowland finished his swing, the arm of the wounded warg fell to the ground with a wet splatter of blood.

Blood sprayed everywhere as the warg almost screamed in agony over its lost arm. Rowland's already abused ears assaulted him with stabbing pain and he groaned at the loss of balance for the second time that day. Still it was no time to rest, the warg was wounded and he had the advantaged. He charged, axe held high for an overhead strike. Pure instinct saved the monster and it dodged with the smallest of margins. Once more he tried to cave its skull in, but the warg had learned its lesson in underestimating its meal. He continued with his attacks, his swings barely missing the now retreating beast by inches. Each time he raised his axe, the agile warg would have moved just barely enough for his swing to miss it. Only when it slipped on the mud wet with blood did the axe find its way into the flesh of its target. The sharp steel sank into the thigh of the monster and the blood was coloured red once more.

The beast howled in pain and swung its arm to bash Rowland's head into pieces. Had he not seen the movement, Rowland would have died at the hands, or hand, of the wolf-like monster. Fortunately for him, Rowland did see how the warg brought its clawed hand back to strike him dead. He brought his axe up in defence, knowing he would never have time to attack before the sharp claws ripped his body to shreds. The axe met the claws and for a moment it looked like the wood would shatter under the strength of a magical beast. His fears were confirmed when the wood broke and the he was holding nothing but two short sticks. The claws however had not faired any better, the metal having broken the tips of the dagger-like weapons. So when the fist of the warg collided with his body, he was left better off than the axe.

Unfortunately, Rowland's footing had not been magically enchanted.

Rowland could feel the bones in his arms creak in protest against the brutal punishment the warg's attacks were putting them under and when the force of the swipe lifted him into the air and flying into a window, he actually felt some relief. His moment of rest only lasted for the few seconds he was in the air, but in those short moments he almost let out a sigh. When his back met the window and spread wood everywhere however, he had to bite back a curse. The splinters of wood cut his back and sliced his neck, and the small wooden splinters that entered his skin were pushed in further when he landed on the floor. He groaned at the pain and tried to flip over on his left side, but the soft, uneven surface he had landed on made it hard to, especially with the way Bolson kept getting in his way.

"Bol…son?" he asked out loud. The pale face of the smith was covered in blood emanating from a wound covering his entire throat, a wound which would have proven lethal within seconds. The man had always been pale, but his face was now paler than any man should be. Rowland didn't need a closer look to know that the man was dead, it was as clear as the man was still. Still, he might be of some use even in death.

A growl was heard and he looked back to the window he had been thrown through. The warg had gotten closer to the window now and had put its remaining hand on the sill, heaving itself through the much too small window to get to him. Despite the bulk of the warg making it difficult for him to get past it, the wood was old and most likely rotten and the sheer muscle of the beast made short work of Rowland's only defence. Once through it didn't waste any time on stalking closer to him, instead choosing to simply jump with the intention of ripping his throat out in a single bite. Rowland scrambled away to the wall in that single moment, looking almost like a pig about to be slaughtered. No doubt the warg had similar thoughts.

Too bad its fangs stopped just a few inches away from him.

It hadn't been a conscious choice. The warg had fully intended to kill him, to rip him apart and feast on his flesh. There had not been any mistake about it; Rowland had been a hair's breadth away from death. Had the teeth belonging to the beast continued its approach for just a few inches more, Rowland's blood would have soaked the earth snow beneath him, his organs probably joining the crimson pool in minutes. He had no way to escape, the glass in his back causing agony to shoot through his spine every time he moved and trying to get away from the monstrosity hunting him would have required energy he had not possessed in years.

So when he thrust the Saxon blade to the attacker and the steel enhanced by the magic the lad had cast on it sank into the throat of the warg, he was not surprised by the result. The momentum of the beast was impressive, but the arm strength of the tavern owner proved superior. His heart may not have possessed the energy it did in his younger days, but his muscles didn't fail him. The fangs of the warg didn't touch him, though the stench from its mouth was enough to make him puke.

Pushing the large monster off his legs, he tried standing up. The glass in his back made him groan, but he could get the lad to get them out later. At least he hoped he could, the magic the boy used was peculiar to say the least. Getting glass out from flesh shouldn't be difficult for a brat capable of conjuring up fire and water, right?

"Rowland! Are you there? If you're alive, talk to us!" The voice of Geoffrey broke through the silence and he winced at the headache he was growing.

"Yeah, Ah'm here so quit your bellyaching! Ah'm not going to die yet, not until Ah've killed every single one of these bloody freaks." He yelled back despite the pain in his skull making it pure torture to do so. Climbing through the window he was tossed through after noticing the door was busted, he found the rest of the villagers taking out the last of the wargs behind the fence. The axes Robert and Geoffrey were wielding proved to be quite useful against the magical hide of the beasts so he was just barely in time to see the head of the last warg fly from a strike of Robert's axe. Geoffrey ran up to him when he emerged from the old house.

"We though you died. When the warg climbed into the house and the others were trying to climb up we thought we were doomed. As soon as the warg was done with you it would come for us so we tried to kill these things as fast as we could. Didn't think we would actually make it though. When…" Rowland interrupted the fisherman in his ramblings in favour of getting to the heart of the problem.

"Have you seen any other wargs around?"

"No, the only side with wargs is where the big one is currently at." Geoffrey responded.

"Good, we're going there now." He said, putting the Saxon blade in his belt. He picked up the remains of his axe, the shortened handle making it a somewhat clumsy weapon, but one of the villagers could use it as a last resort.

"What? To fight the big one?" The panicked response from the rest of the group was vocalized by Robert.

"Unless you want to die like a bitch cowering in a corner while the lad fights by himself then I suggest you follow me. Otherwise Ah'll kill you myself right now. Any objections?" Not a word was said by the villagers. "Good, let's go!"

It was time to finish this.


	7. Death of a Titan

Chapter 7: _Death of a Titan_

**Hello and welcome to another chapter of "Archer of Black"! In case you didn't notice, I've been doing some heavy editing these past few weeks, most of it on the first three chapters of the story. In short, I removed the parts about Atlas and Lili Silverström and I compiled the first three chapters into a single long one. I did this for several reasons; 1, to make the story more streamlined and make it easier to see it as a timetravel-story, 2, to get rid of the unnecessary flab that was the loose plotholes, and 3, simply make the story flow better.**

**If this is the first time reading the story, then please ignore all the text above.**

**We finally put an end to the warg-arc and we go into a new arc. I can't tell you the name of the arc right now since I haven come up with a name for it, but it would be best to call it the "Saxon-arc" for now. Shirou has only dealt with animals and beast until now, but what will happen when he has to face a human element as an opponent? **

**And who is Illya?**

**Stick around to find out more in; "Archer of Black"!**

* * *

He had to admit it.

Freefalling was an interesting experience.

True, falling from a clock tower while wrestling for control with a rabid warg was not something he enjoyed, but the experience was an unusual one to be sure. As he traced a dagger enchanted with wind runes and stabbed it into the warg's eye socket, the feeling of falling to the ground made his stomach twist and turn similar to the time he went to the carnival and he got on a ride with Kiritsugu. Whoever needed amusement parks when you had phantasmal beasts to keep you entertained?

Still, if he didn't focus on the problem at hand he would need a miracle to survive the fall. The warg had gone limp once the blade stabbed into its eye so it was a high chance the brain had been destroyed. That was good for him since it meant he now had something to catch his fall. Angling his body so that the warg was underneath him, he readied himself for the impact.

The air in his lungs was knocked out of him the moment he hit the ground. Although he had cushioned his fall using the carcass of the warg, the velocity and the mass of his body had been more than enough to stun him. He could feel the bruises form over his ribs and he counted himself lucky that they weren't broken. The larger warg had not been as lucky as Shirou could feel the broken ribs move under his weight as he got off the dead body.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that again," he winced. Forget the nausea the little fall had given him, the bones in his body were screaming in pain. His left forearm in particular felt like it had taken a beating. It wasn't quite broken, but it had definitely more than a few cracks in the bone. He was sticking to carnival rides from now on. He had applied some last minute reinforcement, but it had not been anywhere near enough to make up for the momentum and it wasn't like a warg was soft either. It was better than landing on frozen mud, but it couldn't safely absorb his fall either.

Clenching his fist, he was relieved to see the arm wasn't completely useless. He applied a healing spell on the arm to take the edge off the pain and got up. Where had the warg come from? He had made sure to keep count of all the wargs which had left the forest. Though he had missed the ones that entered from the other side so it wasn't too much of a guess to say he had been too focused on Scarface and his group, it still didn't make him feel better. Had Rowland failed to contain the second group?

He didn't have time to waste on stupid questions! The wargs had somehow managed to get into the village and had to be killed, it was as easy as that! No need to ponder on the If's and the Why's, the wargs were simply the enemy that needed to be defeated.

Feeling empowered by his newfound justification, he took off in a run.

Scarface had most likely reached the village by now. The defensive wall Rowland had created wouldn't be able to hold a behemoth of Scarface's size, not when they only had a single night to build it. Scarface would smash right through the wooden fence like it was nothing and Shirou doubted the villagers would be able to put up a fight against the alpha-warg even if they had enchanted weapons to help them.

How was he going to fight Scarface then? His ordinary arrows would be nothing more than mosquito bites to the warg and his RPG-arrows (Seriously, he needed a new name) took too much time and od to be used efficiently. He could use the time before the warg busted through the fence to trace the arrows, but what then? The RPG could hurt him, but the regeneration would heal all the damage he did unless he continuously fired the explosive arrows. So his only option was to fire several arrows and hoped they took him out.

Deciding that the tactic was as good as any, he activated his circuits once more. The arrows he had used were simple in design, but the alteration took the most out of him. Carving a rune into the arrow was harder than it looked since the slightest mistake would cause it to malfunction. His magical crest allowed him to manipulate the elements slightly better than if he had done it simply by hand, but it was still harder than he would have liked. His training with runes had apparently not gone as well as he had thought. The last few days had been rather stressful for him, being shipped off to another time and all that, but that was no excuse to skip out on training. Once he dealt with Scarface and had a good night's sleep, he was going to set up an entirely new training regime.

He had just finished the third RPG-arrow when the sound of wood breaking and Scarface howling brought him out of his thoughts. So Scarface finally got into the village, huh? Took him long enough, with his size and frantic rage he should have destroyed the fence in a single rush. Perhaps the spikes on the fence made him hesitate? Regardless, Shirou wasn't going to let him get away with it. Scarface was going down today. He had killed far too many humans to be allowed to live.

The house closest to Shirou was destroyed in a flurry of splinters and debris. From the destruction, Scarface's ugly form emerged. The jaws dripping with bloody froth snapped at him and only Shirou's reflexes saved him from a death by bifurcation. Picking up the three arrows from the ground, he felt the prana depletion kick in. He was currently reinforcing his body to the outmost limit to keep up with the damned monster and he had been spending far too much prana fighting. He needed to end it soon, or Scarface was going to win the battle of attrition.

Jumping onto the roof of another building, he dodged a swipe from the boneless bat Scarface's right arm had become. The arm struck the wall of the building and Scarface roared in pain as the slab of meat was brutally mistreated. It raged and thrashed around, biting and clawing at the abnormal limb, not understanding that it was simply increasing its own misery. Shirou would have felt sorry for Scarface, but there was simply not any pity left in him for the warg. Scarface had lost all higher brain functions during the battle it seemed, despite its increase in intelligence. Its pain and anger had stripped it of its sense of self and instead had left it with nothing but limitless wrath.

Materializing his bow, Shirou felt not sympathy, but only relief at being able to put it out of tis misery. He would not feel grief or pity for the monster's death, but it was not Scarface's fault it had been born as a warg. It was simply misfortune.

He drew back the arrow and let it fly.

Scarface had been too busy biting its own arm to notice the projectile until it impacted on its skull. Blood and bone flew everywhere in a shower of gore. It howled once more, pain and anger fueling its rampage. An explosive arrow impacting on its skull wasn't enough to kill it however, as the regeneration kicked in and covered the wound in flesh and bone. Thick tumorous growths covered the aforementioned wound and the bone broke and mended by itself repeatedly, disfiguring the alpha's face further. He couldn't be called a natural beast anymore, not with its current appearance. Even calling it an abomination would be stretching it. gathering his resolve, Shirou notched another arrow and was about to release it when Scarface lunged at him.

Shirou dodged, but Scarface wouldn't stop his assault. Shirou jumped from building to building to avoid the onslaught of claws and fangs that tried to tear him to pieces, each attack becoming faster than the one before at the expense of the beast's accuracy. Buildings were reduced to splinters and ruins as the large beast ran amok, destroying everything in its path in order to kill Shirou. As a claw came terrifyingly close to cleaving his leg off, Shirou came to a shocking conclusion.

Scarface was too fast for him to kill.

In order to use the arrows to destroy Scarface's brain, he needed at least three seconds to aim and fire. Scarface was not giving him the time he required and was constantly chasing him around. The linear nature of the village also meant Shirou couldn't use the houses as a barrier since he could only jump to houses in a single direction. The gigantic warg might have lost its ability to reason since he saw him last, but the brute strength and speed had only been increased. The increased intelligence he had shown earlier seemed as if it was nothing, but a distant dream as it ruthlessly advanced on the smaller prey. Was it merely a desire to devour everything in sight or was it some kind of instinctual behavior not to let Shirou fire his arrows?

Regardless, he needed to make an opening. Scarface's wild swings were faster than Shirou's evasive actions, but they were without technique or thought. As soon as he saw Shirou's moving form, the warg would attack in any way possible. Jaws which would tear limbs, claws which would eviscerate bodies, strength and speed unsurpassed in the animal kingdom, Scarface was more dangerous than anything Shirou had ever seen before. The building he was standing on was turned into sticks and stones and his body would follow in its footsteps had he not reinforced his body to dodge the insane assault. How would he be able to fire an arrow when he barely had time to breathe? The earlier arrow had been when the warg was preoccupied by its pain, but Shirou was not in any position to distract it since it was already focused on him.

A loud yell alerted him to the presence of the villagers. They must be fighting the wargs on the other side of the fence. There can't be that many left, he had killed most of them himself after all. As long as he was able to kill Scarface, he would be able to help them later. As long as he could find the time to fire an arrow…

Scarface stopped his onslaught and threw his head back in a pained howl. The action was so sudden that Shirou stopped jumping and stared at the sight, a behemoth capable of destroying a building was whining and howling in pain, like a dog whose paws had been stepped on.. What was he doing? It might be a trap, a way to make Shirou lower his guard and approach the monster in curiosity. But Scarface didn't have the capability to create such intricate plans anymore, whatever intelligence it may have had before was lost in the turmoil of rage and pain. There must be another reason it was stopping. Focusing on the beast, he tried to find out why.

The reason was both simple and mindboggling at the same time.

At what could be called the Achilles tendons of the supersized warg, were two smaller wargs who were tearing and clawing at the delicate flesh. One was a deep auburn while the other was a golden brown and both of them were covered in the blood of the large black alpha. As they sank their fangs and claws into the important muscles, the prana being released into the air was more than noticeable. It was as if someone had held a rotting steak in front of his nose and made him take a deep breath. The coppery and pungent odor couldn't be anything other the Scarface's prana. Blood, no matter what kind, would never smell as strong as this for Shirou. Even if he reinforced his sense of smell, the scent of blood was never as clear as prana to him. The fact that Scarface's prana carried such a rancid stench told him that the alpha could not be allowed to live any longer. Scarface wasn't a simple warg anymore, he was an error waiting to be terminated, an abomination which could not be allowed to live lest he scarred the world beyond repair.

He notched the first arrow and drew the string back to aim. The auburn warg noticed his action and jumped away from the black alpha, just in time to avoid the claws trying to tear it apart. The second one was not as lucky, the sword-like claws penetrating its flank and exposing the guts inside. The force from the strike blew the warg into a building, tearing the wall down like it was nothing. As Scarface turned to face his remaining opponent, his face was revealed and he no longer moved as frantically as he did before. That was the opening Shirou needed.

The arrow flew across the small distance between them and struck Scarface's head on his right cheek. The immediate explosions scorched the skin and flesh from his snout, revealing the teeth and skull. The shockwave stunned the oversized wolf, until the pain reached its brain and its remaining eye widened in shock. The howl it released rattled Shirou's teeth and he felt something snap in his head. It was loud, too loud for a human to bear, but he notched the third arrow anyway. He wouldn't let this opportunity go to waste, not now when he had caused so much pain to create it. The villagers who had spent so many years in fear and sorrow would finally be free from the predators stalking their every step. He couldn't' falter, if he then everything would have been in vain.

Scarface stopped howling, not because the pain stopped, but because the pain became too much. The heat had seared away all the flesh and skin on the right side of his face, ruining his eye and the delicate nerves covering his skull. The injury appeared to be momentary though, his natural healing taking care of the massive injury. Fortunately for Shirou, he wasn't able to properly use his gifts. The bone broke as the excessive Mana in his system tried to overcompensate for his wounds, healing and creating parts which should not be there. Teeth emerged from his snout, piercing through his own upper jaw to climb out of their roots. Horn-like bones burst through the remaining fur on his head, causing the owner of said fur to twitch as his own body tried it best to kill him. The scene was more gruesome than Shirou would have preferred, even for someone who had been told of the many atrocities his father had performed over the decades, this was enough to send a shiver down his spine and make him want to puke. He'd be doing Scarface a favour by killing him now. The warg was probably half-dead anyway, putting him out his misery was what any sane person would do. thinking so, he lifted his bow once more.

The third and final arrow, the one last arrow he had altered to absorb Mana and release it at once to cause untold destruction, was carefully notched and aimed. He could see it, the cracks he had created on Scarface's skull. They were the weak spot, the target he needed to strike. Even now, as the bone protrusions continued to emerge from the rapidly mutating monster, he could see the cracks slowly mending. It was a testament to the beast's will to live that he hadn't died from his own cancerous healing yet, but that was about to end. Shirou would make sure of that.

He poured prana into the arrow, overclocking it. It was a projection so there was no need to be delicate with it. His arrows weren't meant to be collected to be used again, not his projected ones at least. Not wasting any time with useless thoughts of conserving his strength, he activated all of his fifty circuits, both his own and magic crest's, and poured every last bit of prana he had left into the arrow. When the metal began to crack from the strain of bearing so much magical energy, he knew it had reached the limit. He released the arrow and watched it fly, dodging the explosion by hiding behind a chimney as a last minute precaution.

He was right in doing so.

The shockwave was enough to destabilize the chimney and the roof he had been standing on, but the fire and heat was enough to burn his skin. Several stones were blown away from the chimney behind between him and the explosion, forcing him to cover his head with his arms unless he wished to have his head cracked open by a stray rock. He had used too much prana to run away from the blast too, his legs and arms were sluggish and he felt like his veins were filled with hot lead. His school uniform started burning after the brief contact with the flames and he had to pat the flames away with his hands. His skin might be reinforced, but putting out fires still hurt enough for him to know he would be getting blisters the next day. When the blast had subsided and only the fire remained, the silence which followed told him to peek out for his hiding place.

The surrounding houses were burning, the flames rising higher as the dry wood fueled them even more. The snow which covered the ground had been melted into dirty water mixed with mud, the blood from Scarface flowing into the puddles created from his strides. Scarface himself was not moving, the behemoth standing on his hind legs in an awkward half-sitting, half-standing position. Blood flowed down his black fur, making it appear even darker if possible. The wound, if it could be called that, was fatal. Decapitation usually was…

The explosion had literally torn Scarface's head off and into little pieces which littered the street here and there. Skull fragments could be seen embedded into walls, sharp pieces flying through the air must have had the velocity to pierce even wood and stone. Shirou took a look at the headless warg and refused to take his eyes off it. The insane healing Scarface had shown earlier, was it capable of growing an entire skull and brain? Was there any limit to a warg's regeneration? Shirou had never seen anything capable of surviving a missing head, but phantasmal beasts weren't considered to be normal. Kiritsugu had told him about the curse dead apostles possess, the ability to reverse time on a limited scale. He was hoping that the wargs did not possess such an ability. The smaller wargs hadn't, but Scarface was perhaps an exception to the rule. If he did then they had lost. Shirou was out of prana and he only had the sword he had traced earlier, the falchion he had used to engineer the traps he had laid out before. Taking on the gigantic alpha with a mystic code made hours earlier was not something he was able to do without getting killed in the process. He was really hoping Scarface was dead.

As if to deny his prayers, Scarface suddenly moved, raising his hand towards him to crush the defenseless magus…

…Only to fall to the ground, his corpse scattering the water beneath him with a bloody splash.

Shirou blinked, not knowing what to say. What had happened? Did Scarface die, or was he merely recovering? He was guessing the giant monster had died, kicked the bucket, or trying to bite the dust while lacking the actual teeth to do it. The fatal lack of a head was a good indication that he was dead, but something in Shirou's mind told him it was too good to be true. He had been prepared for a longer drawn-out battle, trading blows while continuously dodging the behemoth's claws, but this was… it was… not disappointing, but not a relief either. Kiritsugu had taught him not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but something about the way Scarface was lying on the ground, head missing and ankles town, told him he was forgetting something. Some tiny little detail that, while useless in the heat of battle, was becoming more and more important as the immediate threat was passing. `It didn't feel right, the battle wasn't ended´ was what his brain told him and the detail he was missing was the reason for it all.

He shifted his footing, wondering just what it was he had missed, and the slight creak was the only warning he got before the unstable roof collapsed beneath his feet.

"WhaAAAAAAAAAGH!" He began, but his question quickly turned into a scream of surprise. He tried to grab onto the chimney, but the slippery stone did nothing to aid him, instead his fingernails scraped against the grey granite and were torn off, rather painfully too. The thatched roof gave way as he fell down, the beams beneath the straw finally giving into the strain they had been under for the duration of the skirmish. His vision was obscured by wet straw and leaves, preventing him from actually reaching for anything solid enough to grab onto.

He landed on a table, the flimsy, wooden construct breaking his fall for a fraction of a second before it too succumbed to the weight. The table broke in half, sending him crashing onto the floor with an impact that robbed his lungs of air and a headache that would most likely last for days. As he laid there on the ground, frantically trying to breathe air into his lungs once more, he realized that perhaps this was not the kind of life Kiritsugu had wanted for him.

The sound of falling stones alerted him to the danger above and he hastily rolled to the side to avoid the large chimney from crushing his head as it fell from the roof with enough momentum to break the floor and enter the cellar. His leg on the other was not so lucky, having been caught under the chimney's weight. The tibia and fibula in his left leg broke under the immense force, his reinforcement having ended when his prana had run out. He didn't need to use Structural Analysis to know the bones had been broken into tiny fragments or that the sharp fragments would most likely cut into his muscles and cripple him if he didn't apply healing Magecraft soon. He needed to heal it, he needed to mend the fracture, he needed to…

The door opened and Shirou turned to the newcomer, a request to be taken somewhere he could heal up on his tongue, but he froze as the auburn warg entered the ruined house. It was large up close, larger than what he thought it would be. Scarface's blood covered its snout and the dagger-like teeth in its jaws did it no favors in the friends department. Each step it took towards Shirou made his blood that much colder.

The detail he had forgotten, the thing that had made him think the battle wasn't over, it had been the warg. The only warg to have survived the genocide at the lair, the only warg to survive the battle with Scarface, was currently closing in on him with its golden eyes fixated on his helpless form. It stopped about a meter away, observing him, assessing his level as a threat. Between a warg over two meters tall and at its peak in physical condition and an fourteen year old boy who had run out of prana, the result would be obvious if they fought. Add the fact that Shirou's leg was nothing but a mass of flesh and bone and his future didn't look very bright at the moment.

The warg came to the same conclusion as it tensed its entire body in order to pounce on him and tear him to pieces. The floorboards creaked in response and the wolf-like beast jumped at him, jaws wide open and ready to devour him for all his worth.

Shirou drew the falchion from the strap on his back. He couldn't trace another weapon, not in the span of time he had so the sword would have to do. Small parts of the blade had begun to disappear, showing him that the sword was at its limit as a projection. Forcing what little prana he had left, he reinforced the fake steel to hold on, anchoring it to the world for a few more minutes. His circuits burned and scorched, but he ignored the pain. Having his circuits ache for the next few days was better than being eaten by a temporary ally-turned-enemy. Even though it and the other warg had attacked Scarface and helped him defeat it, once Scarface was dead he would be just another threat, one that could be eliminated while he was vulnerable.

The falchion caught the wolf between its jaws and would have chopped its head off if the warg hadn't closed it teeth around the metal at the last second. His weak and sluggish limbs couldn't hold the larger warg away in their current state so the entire beast fell onto Shirou's smaller body. The beast's claws pierced his shoulder and arm, soaking his shirt with blood, but Shirou refused to let go of the sword. If he let the blade fall from his hands then he'd die.

The auburn warg was slowly inching towards his face, the falchion cracking under the pressure. The teeth continued to grind away at the prana construction, erasing its existence bit by bit as the already fragile creation was fading away. Blood was flowing from his wounds and he became light headed, even as the adrenaline filled his veins instead. What would happen if he let go for just a second? It wouldn't be too bad to just relax and take a nap. His entire body was tired and aching, he deserved some rest, even if only for a moment. What's the worst that could happen?

He would die. He couldn't afford to do that. He'd die if he let go of the sword. He'd die before he could tell Rowland he had won and saved the village, he'd die before he could fulfill his promise to Kiritsugu and become an ally of justice, he'd die before he'd be able to save Illya, he'd die before…

Who was Illya?

Something in his head fell into place, a mechanism previously forgotten had been activated. Prana filled his limbs and reinforcement activated almost instinctively. The warg which had been getting closer to his face was suddenly hoisted up into the air as Shirou kicked its stomach with his remaining leg, the surge of power flowed through his body aiding him. The claws which had been firmly entrenched into his body were ripped out and for a second, the grip it had on the falchion in its jaws loosened. A second was all Shirou needed.

He swung the blade in his hands, ignoring the pain his punctured shoulder was sending him. The chipped and cracked blade sliced through flesh and muscles, cleaved bone and cut through brain matter. Blood flew in an arc, painting the walls in the crimson liquid. The headless body of the warg fell down, almost crushing Shirou in the process. For an fourteen year old boy, having a hundred and twenty kilograms of muscles stacked onto you isn't very pleasant, especially not when he was being soaked in blood at the same time.

The prana which had surged through his body disappeared, leaving him even more exhausted than he was before. He could barely crawl out from underneath the carcass of the warg before he collapsed. His leg was busted, his circuits were burning and he had a headache worse than sparring with Taiga, but he didn't care about that. All he cared about was getting a good night's sleep.

That and find out why the name `Illya´ rang a bell.

**AOB**

_Dreams were lovely things. They could be about past events or even future ones. Shirou knew lots of things about dreams, he had studied them in order to find out what they meant, a testament of his desire to be a hero of justice. Being able to decipher dreams was almost a prerequisite._

_Shirou didn't know why he dreamt about a sword. He had never seen it before, even if he couldn't see it clearly. He had never seen such a delicately forged blade or one with so many decorations on it. It was truly a masterpiece, one beyond the blacksmiths of the modern age. But Shirou had never seen it before, he had never gazed upon a blade as loved or cherished as that one so why would he suddenly dream of a hazy sword he couldn't see properly and yet know what it looked like?_

_There was a connection between him and the sword, but he didn't know what it meant. The golden treasure in front of him, what could it mean? _

_Inside of him, something shifted. For the first time in years, the utopia of an ever-distant dream began to awaken._

**AOB**

The soft covers he had used the last few days were an unexpected addition to his current predicament. Waking up in the tavern was an even stranger experience. He did not remember going to bed, he didn't remember going to sleep at all. Though the soft, if itchy, covers were comfortable, he would much prefer it if his body didn't ache like a…

Scarface!

Remembering the events from last night, he threw off the covers and winced as his brain registered the pain it was in. His leg in particular was throbbing like crazy, the swollen and inflamed flesh sending pangs of pain every time his heart beat. Easing himself up into a sitting position, he took a look at his injuries.

His arm and shoulder were bandaged, rather crudely and haphazardly at that. The brown and dirty fabric had soaked up enough blood to become hard and crusty and he doubted they would be usable again unless they were boiled for hours to kill the bacteria. They had done their job though, as his wounds had been covered enough to let them heal. In fact, the punctures weren't nearly as deep as they had been before. How long had he been asleep? It would have taken him weeks to recover this far without being healed through Magecraft. Had a magus healed him while he was asleep? Why had they not healed him completely if that was the case?

His leg was another story. It had been crushed by a stone chimney and his still growing bones had been shattered like glass under the weight. Even if Shirou had spent an entire day to heal it, he wouldn't have the skill or the knowledge to fix it completely. He could set the bones straight and heal the muscles to some extent, but majority of the healing would have to be natural, meaning he would have to wait in bed for days before he could even think of walking again. He was lucky in that he knew spells to accelerate the healing to avoid being stuck for months, but it was still not a fun thing to consider.

In spite of that, his leg was mended to a large degree. The tibia was at least in one piece, though with multiple hairline fractures while his fibula was still broken in three places. The swelling was a result of the fragments cutting flesh and veins so he couldn't exactly make it go down before the bones were set. He poked the leg, immediately regretting the decision as the pain kicked in.

_`Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!´_ He thought repeatedly as the throbbing pain increased tenfold. He wasn't going to be doing that again, not without painkillers to take the edge off. Well, at least there weren't any problems with the nerves. Large fractures could result in nerve damage and necrosis if infected so he was lucky in that regard. He still didn't like being called lucky after having his leg turn to pancake.

"Eh, you're awake? Ah'd thought you'd sleep for an entire month before you woke up. Got to give it you mages, your bodies can't be compared to us mortals." Rowland's gruff voice said from the door. Turning to face the tavern owner, he saw a bowl of fish soup and a loaf of bread in his hands. Shirou's stomach grumbled in greed at the sight and Shirou had to agree. The smell of food was almost mesmerizing.

"What's the situation in the village?" Shirou asked the large man as he accepted the bowl of warm soup. As soon as the scalding liquid met his tongue he knew he had been asleep for far too long. Even as the soup burned his throat he continued to eat it, spoon after spoon. Upon chewing the small morsels in the liquid, he found himself corrected. It wasn't fish in the soup, but some kind of meat. Had Rowland used the deer he had caught before in the forest? Regardless, it had been wonderfully cooked with herbs collected around the village and his stomach seconded his opinion with a loud grumble.

"Most of us are alive. About seven villagers died in the attack and three are injured. After the black one broke through the fence the smaller ones took the opportunity to sneak in. We would have been torn to shreds if we didn't have the weapons you gave us, they weren't expecting us to have weapons that could cut through their hide. Ah think the reason we won was because they underestimated us from the start." Rowland explained.

Shirou froze at the news. Seven had died? Seven people had died because of him? No, it couldn't be, he hadn't meant to do that. The reason he had started everything to begin with was because he wanted to help people. Was he responsible for their deaths?

No, not completely anyway. The wargs had been hunting the villagers for years and the entire village would have slaughtered them the moment they tried to evacuate. They had been stuck between a rock and a hard place; death by warg on one side and death by Saxons on the other. What Shirou had done had saved the majority of the village at the expense of the few. Wasn't that a good thing? At least the village could rebuild and survive now that it wasn't under the constant threat of being slaughtered if they entered the forest.

Despite his attempts to convince himself otherwise, his appetite had suddenly disappeared and the soup didn't taste quite as delicious anymore.

"I see… what's the village like? Scarface destroyed quite a lot, didn't he? How will the village recover?" He asked, desperately trying to take his mind away from the fact that his actions, forced or not, had taken the life of seven people.

"It's good, much better actually. Buildings are simply buildings at the end of the day. The houses that were busted can be rebuilt now that we can chop our own timber. The boats can also be fixed so everything's going to be fine." The man let out a long and tired sigh. "Ah didn't think Ah'd see the day those beasts would be killed, it's almost like a dream, you know. All those people who died while we were cowering in our shacks like brats behind their mother's skirts. If only we had stood up for ourselves earlier, then maybe… no, it wouldn't work. Without you to help us then we would have been massacred like pigs for slaughter." Rowland smiled tiredly and his age began to show for the first time since they had met.

"Thanks, lad. You don't know what you've done for us." The tavern owner said gratefully, bowing slightly.

Shirou on the other hand flushed at the gratitude the man was showing. He had not expected the response he was given, not from the gruff man in front of him. Yes he knew he had saved (most of) them, but to be thanked for it… it made him happy, knowing he had done something good, even if some people hadn't made it out alive. At least those who survived would be free to live their lives in peace.

"It's nothing, you don't have to thank me. I couldn't just let you get killed while I ran way, could I?" He asked. It was a rhetorical question, a hero of justice would never run away and leave the village to be killed. Kiritsugu would have done the same.

"It doesn't change the fact that you've saved our lives, boy. In case you ever need anything, let us know and the village of Blackbay will be there for you. Ah can't let our savior talk about Blackbay, can ah?" Rowland answered his rhetorical question with his own, a mischievous grin on his face. The tired and aging man seemed to disappear and was replaced by a man who had plenty of years left to play around.

"I'll keep that in mind." Shirou replied. Remembering how his leg had been reset, he asked Rowland about it. "Rowland, who fixed my leg?"

The old man frowned at the question. "What do you mean? We tried to set it straight, but it was crushed beyond repair. It must have been some kind of magic used to heal it." The answer was far from satisfying, since it implied neither the village nor Shirou had healed his leg. Who else was there, there couldn't be another magus around, right?

"No, I mean; who healed it? If you couldn't heal it, then who did?" He asked again, but Rowland's confused expression told him the old man didn't know either.

"Sorry, lad, but Ah have no idea what you're on about. We don't have a healer here so we tried as best we could, but an injury like that is beyond us. We thought you had used some kind of spell to heal it while you were asleep. You healed those bruises you had when we met pretty fast, didn't ya?" the man spoke, cementing Shirou's suspicions that something was terribly wrong. He had been able to heal his wounds before because he actively cast healing Magecraft, but he wouldn't have been able to do it in his sleep. His circuits were still sore from the fight with Scarface so he would not have been able to cast those spells to begin with.

In other words, someone he didn't know about had _`fixed´_ his leg while he had been asleep without him noticing. Someone with extensive knowledge of healing broken bones beyond salvation, someone with a motive had snuck into the village without anyone noticing and healed him only to sneak out without saying a word or leaving a note. It was too good to be true, there was some kind of hidden agenda to helping him. The problem was he had no idea of whom or why he had been helped to begin with.

He shook his head, getting rid of those kinds of thoughts. Kiritsugu must have affected him with his conspiracy theories. He was thinking in circles about why he was getting better and why he had been helped. Did it matter? He was on his way to make a full recovery and the village had been saved, this wasn't the time to be stuck in suspicion and paranoia. He should be resting and enjoying the peace he had been robbed of since he came to this time period.

"Speaking of which, what are you going to be doing now? The Saxons will come here in a few weeks, right? Will you leave for a place safe from the attacks?" The Saxons were the reason the wargs had been brought to Britannia in the first place. Would the same thing start over again now that the Saxons returned for another round?

"We'll have to rebuild the village for now, can't live in ruins after all. Since we're a fishing village and part of the Hastings area, we still have to contribute a small part of our profits to the baron and viscount. We won't be evacuating until we actually see the saxon ships. It'll be better now though, now that we can repair our ships and houses." Rowland answered optimistically.

Shirou doubted it would be that easy however, the simple fact that people had died in the previous attack being one of the indicators. Even if they saw the ships arrive in the horizons, a lot of people would probably try to pack too much for them to escape in time. Kiritsugu had told him how possessive people were of their clothes and items. Even Shirou had seen humans carry their belongings as they died in the Fuyuki fire, hoping to save at least a small part of their former lives.

"I see, then I suppose you'll be needing help with rebuilding. Think a tiny hunter like me could be of assistance?" Shirou asked.

He had been thinking about Wyrda over the past couple of days, why she had dropped him here of all places. She had chosen this place for some reason, a small village close to the ocean and ravaged by wargs. Even though she had been a Scandinavian goddess, she had dropped him one-thousand and five-hundred years ago in England. Was there something special about this place, aside from the wargs? He hadn't thought so at first, but it finally came to him.

The saxons had brought the wargs to Britannia during the first invasion, but what if they brought something else with them? Wyrda had been a Scandinavian goddess, but she had been reduced to a Fae. Had her spirit been brought to Britannia along with the invading saxons? True, the saxons might not worship the Norse pantheon. Instead they were neighbors with the ones who did. The chance of Vikings mixing with saxons and somehow warping their faith little by little was not high, but it was possible.

Of course it was simply his first hypothesis and he had not evidence to support it, but it was a step in the right direction. If he could find the place he had been dumped then he would be able to investigate it and maybe find a clue. Maybe there was some kind of anchor or key he could use to reverse their positions, or maybe there was no way for him to return, but he wasn't going to give up without a fight.

Staying in Blackbay would give him a chance to survive and study the area. If he was lucky (as in really lucky) he could reverse the spell put on him and get back to his own time. Fuji-nee would be furious if he didn't cook for her anymore.

Rowland smiled at his question, his teeth shining even as the yellowing made the grin slightly off-setting. "Of course, lad! Did you think we were going to turn you away? After all you've done, you're welcome to stay as long as you like!" He laughed, slamming his large palm onto Shirou's back. Shirou felt the slap and the stinging pain that followed, but didn't say anything. That was just Rowland's way of interacting, he'd get used to it soon enough.

It wasn't like everyone in this age were as physical as Rowland.

Right…?

**AOB**

_`Ow.´_

_`Ow.´_

_`Ow.´_

_`Son of a…!´_

_`Ow.´_

_`Ow!´_

The word repeated itself in his head every time a villager slapped his back, a token of their gratitude. Being physical was apparently the norm for this day and age, to the point that even the women wouldn't hesitate to give him a hug and then slam their palms onto his red and sore back for good measure. He was sure he would find a red imprint of a hand once he looked himself into a mirror, but he knew refusing to greet them would be rude and not a good way to start off a friendship. The pain was temporary, friends lasted forever.

The pain was temporary, friends lasted forever.

The pain was temporary, friends lasted… forever.

The pain was…

As the forty-something-eth villager slapped his back and almost sent him tumbling forward, he let out an almost unnoticeable whimper.

_`How the hell are these people so damn strong?! They make Taiga's slaps look like pillow fights.´_ he thought. The tavern was filled with people who had expressed their gratitude towards him and while he appreciated the thought and their words made something in his chest heat up from pride, their greetings and interactions made his spine feel like it had been stuck with a hundred needles. He was fighting to keep a smile on his face, even when they thanked him for saving their lives it was hard to keep up the façade of being happy to help.

To be honest, he had only himself to blame. After he had regained his strength and prana, he had spent most of it on healing his leg. The fibula was still rather fragile, but he had been given a pair of crudely carved crutches to support his weight. He had (foolishly) decided to go for a walk in order to assess the damage and find out what he could do to help. The entire day had been spent inspecting the village and talk to the townspeople who had survived. In spite of the destruction Scarface had caused, a lot of the buildings had survived the attack. Five houses had been completely destroyed with four others having sustained moderate damages, a surprising result given the already deteriorated state of the village. The builder must have been skilled to make the small houses withstand such a violent assault. Of course, they would still have to remove all the rotting wood in order to replace it with new timber, but the basic form was already there so the rebuilding shouldn't take too long.

Speaking of houses, he had been given plenty of offers concerning his stay in Blackbay. The fishermen had asked him if he wanted to become a fisherman while the blacksmith who had replaced the one who died in the attack had wanted to take him on as an apprentice. The only farmer had even asked him to start living off the earth, something he had declined right away. The man had insinuated that he would have to marry the daughter of the farmer if he decided to farm, but he decided not to do that. Even though arranged marriages were common in this era, he was still from his own time period and having a wife wasn't in his immediate interests. Rather, getting involved with anyone would simply make the parting more painful. He had expressed an interest in helping the man with his crops however, since he had read in a book about crop rotations and other interesting facts about farming. It had been one of his dad's hidden pleasures, helping poor people in third-world countries with simple matters like farming enabled them to make a living off the land. This method didn't require cold-blooded murder and the countries that Kiritsugu traveled to were often those in need of food or resources. By taking out the local warlord and teaching a few natives how to farm he would be killing two birds with one stone. He was unfortunately not able to see if they learned what he taught them properly since he would always leave for another conflict before he could ensure they were ready.

Shirou had all the time in the world right now, or at least 1,500 years. He could stay to make sure they knew how to farm properly.

As they had passed the tavern, Shirou noticed the large skeletons in front of the tavern. Upon closer inspection, he determined them to be warg bones. The white bones had been stripped of flesh and skin and haphazardly thrown on a huge pile on the outskirts of the village, Scarface's skeleton being the exception. Scarface still lied in the middle of the village, even though the villagers had skinned him and cut his limbs apart in order to make carrying him easier. His right arm, the one which had bloated and oozed pus, and his torso were simply too heavy to move without removing the flesh first. He probably weighed more than an elephant and he doubted the villagers would be able to carry several tones of warg away in just a few days. Still, he wouldn't be able to do anything until his leg had been fixed completely. Until his leg healed and his prana returned then he was rather useless and he wouldn't be able to do anything which required delicate work. Skinning was beyond him to begin with and he didn't know what medieval human did with wolf meat. They probably ate it if it was fresh, but wolves weren't known for being a delicacy. Oh well, it had little to do with him now that the wargs were dead and not a threat.

Maybe he could take a few bones and make arrows from them? They were phantasmal beasts after all, their remains were bound to have a few effects.

The day had passed without incident and the entire village had retired to the tavern to celebrate the defeat of the wargs, something which most definitely called for a celebration in the eyes of the villagers. One by one the villagers introduced themselves and Shirou actually got to know their names. Being bombarded with introductions, he couldn't memorize everyone who came up to him and started talking, but he did make a note to remember a few people. The blacksmith and the fishermen were the easiest to remember, mostly because he had an interest in swords and fishing. The man named Geoffrey in particular was rather memorable, especially once he found out the man had put peppers in his water once. How the man had gotten his hands on the expensive spice was beyond him considering he was a poor fisherman, but Shirou was going to grill him for information once he could speak to him in private. If he could get his hands on more spices and mixed them with local herbs then he could invent an entirely new cuisine. Perhaps he could recreate the stove and oven he had made back home with the help of the blacksmith. It wouldn't look the same of course, but the basic design would be similar. Since the forest had plenty of wild animals he could hunt and the herbs were edible, the only thing he was missing was rice and potatoes. He needed something to balance the dish, to fill the stomach aside from the meat. The farmer had said he was growing wheat and rye, both used for making bread. Could he make pasta with wheat or grain? He was really wishing he had learnt more about western food!

As he took a wooden goblet containing what he thought was water, he made up his mind. Today would be spent relaxing, tomorrow he would start planning on what he should do. Staying here, while the villagers were nice and welcoming and all, wasn't in his best interests. He had to get back to his own timeline and set things right. The problem was how he would do that. Compared to a goddess-turned-fairy, he was a third-rate magus with less than four years of experience. Comparing himself to Wyrda was daunting and the thought of facing that dog of hers was even more so. The black canine looked like something out of a horror story with a gory ending. Every time he thought about those two, his heart froze in panic and fear. If he was going to have a chance to go up against them then he would have to train, plan and cheat like a madman on crazy pills. An ordinary human wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell on defeating the, but a magus might under the right circumstances.

That was in the future though, for now he would celebrate what he had done. Even heroes needed to rest once in a while.

"What the bloody hell is that thing?!" A loud and baffled voice yelled over the sound of singing and dancing.

The instruments stopped playing and the dancing ceased as all the people present turned to the speaker. Shirou recognized him from somewhere, but he couldn't tell where. Had he really seen him before? He looked familiar, but he wasn't a villager and Shirou had been here for a week now…

A week?

The knight whom he had seen when he first arrived in this time would return in a week to recruit the soldiers, that's what he had said. Was this the knight? He had a full beard peppered with gray and the black fur coat around his shoulders was thick and most likely expensive. Compared to the rough fabrics used by the villagers, the armour worn by the knight was most definitely made from high quality materials. But the sword at his hip told Shirou that it was the same man. He had seen that sword before, a sword used to kill men like they were animals. This was the same knight he had seen a week earlier. His name was…

"Sir Ludvig, what a surprise! How are you doing this fine evening?" Rowland said, a slur in his speech. The tavern keeper had broken out the good stuff and had gotten a head start over his fellow drinkers. Compared to the grim knight standing in front of him, Rowland's red cheeks and goofy grin was almost comical.

"Rowland, you have five seconds to tell me exactly what the hell that thing on the street is! And while you're at it, you might as well tell me what it's doing here!" the knight roared at the drunken bartender/ tavern keeper. The obviously freaked out man was trying to maintain his composure through coherent speech, but the volume and wording exposed his frightened nature. Not that Shirou could blame him, the first time Shirou had seen a warg he had almost screamed in fear himself. And he was a magus who knew about phantasmal beasts, an ordinary knight would probably lose control of his bowels at the sight of an oversized specimen like Scarface.

"Oh that? That's the warg whose been terrorizing us the last fifteen years. A hunter brought it down a couple of days ago and we've been trying to cut the good parts out before it rots, something we currently don't have the manpower to do since the damn thing wrecked our village when it attacked." Rowland explained, as if he was talking about the weather. The way he was handling an armed knight while drunk was almost awe-inspiring, and Shirou felt his respect for the balding man grow. Or perhaps the only reason he was able to handle the knight like that was because he was drunk and couldn't see the sword shaking in its sheath the knight's hand gripping the hilt in a steel grip.

"The warg…? They were real?" Sir Ludvig asked, disbelief in his eyes.

"Aye, of course. You think we would lie about the monsters killing us just to avoid paying the taxes? Shame on you, Ludvig. You, of all people, should know that the people of Blackbay don't lie!" he raised his voice and the crowd behind him raise the goblets in a combined "AYE!"

Sir Ludvig stood there for a minute or two, checking Rowland's face for any indication that he was lying. When he didn't find any signs of the bartender lying to him and that he was actually telling the truth, the man released his sword and straightened his back. His frightened expression was still there, but the man had steeled himself for whatever was about to come.

"I presume you have an explanation for how this beast came to this land. It is unlike anything I've ever seen and you look like you know something I don't. Unless you want to spend the night shackled in irons then I suggest you spill it!" Sir Ludvig said, a vein throbbing in his forehead. He had apparently not liked seeing the dismembered corpse of a phantasmal beast immediately after entering the village.

Rowland merely smiled, the grin stretching even further than before. "Now now, don't get your panties in a bunch. Ah'll be happy to tell you how it went, but we're in the middle of a celebration here. Surely this could wait until tomorrow, eh old chap?" The obviously drunk man said with a boisterous laugh.

Did those two know each other? Rowland was acting friendly and talking like they were old friends, but Rowland did that to everybody, including Shirou. The odd one was Sir Ludvig, the knight who looked dangerously close to having a stroke at the moment. An ordinary knight, or even an average person of this age, would have snapped by now and punched the drunkard for wasting time. Even though the vein in his forehead was pulsing and looking like it would pop any second now, the knight hadn't made any movement to attack the tavern owner or have him arrested. That spoke of history and experience in dealing with the man in his current state. Had they been friends once perhaps?

Sir Ludvig sighed, whether he was giving up or merely trying to calm himself down he couldn't tell, but the knight looked a lot more collected than before.

"Fine, we'll return in the morning. I want you to have an explanation ready by then and I want to meet the hunter who killed the foul beast. I also want you to have decided on who will join the duke's army by then, or we'll have to pick whoever looks the strongest, Rowland." The knight said, looking noticeably calmer and focused.

"Aye, we'll be ready by then. Though Ah'll doubt some of us will be all that happy to talk first thing in the morning, considering we'll be hammered like bunch of dumb fishes by then!" he was joined by a chorus of drunken laughter, though only the ones closest to them heard the joke and the rest simply laughed with them. Even he had to join the laughter, if only to laugh at the situation.

Ludvig remained as stoic as he could, but the corners of his lips twitched, a sign that he also found the drunken crowd somewhat humorous. He turned around and started walking away, but stopped at the door.

"I'll leave you to enjoy your feast then. I'd be rude of me to interrupt and I still have to talk to Distray." He said before he left, the door slamming shut after his exit.

After e few minutes, the party had resumed and the music played loudly once more. The stomping of feet signaled that the dancing had started and soon the entire hall was filled with people who laughed and celebrated.

Shirou did not join them. The arrival of the knight had left a bad taste in his mouth and despite his best efforts to forget what had been said, the words echoed in his head like a bad CD-player.

_`Who would join the Duke's army?´_

What kind of question was that? The village had just been liberated from the wargs and now they had to fight once more? Hadn't they suffered enough hardship to excuse one small village from the recruitment? It was unfair how the village had escaped the jaws of death from one threat and now they were forced to fight against it once more, against overwhelming adversaries.

The hours passed and despite the cheerful atmosphere around him, Shirou did not find a moment of joy.

**AOB**

The loud knocking on his door told him it was time to wake up. Rowland had woken him up at dawn before so it wasn't that unusual for him to do so again. The rooster had started crowing a few minutes ago and the morning's sun had appeared, the light breaking through the cracks in his window.

He threw the covers to the side and sat up, his bare feet touching the cold wooden floors. He shivered at the chilly morning's cold and quickly put on his socks, the cloth quickly warming up as his own warmth as his own heat was quickly transmitted to the footwear. After having come to this time, his clothes had gotten ripped and punctured time and time again. His socks were the only item of clothing which wasn't ripped or destroyed. His t-shirt had been torn to become bandages and his school uniform had become little more than long strips of clothing hanging together through a combination of reinforcement, alteration and true magic-level sewing. His shoes were ruined beyond salvation, the unholy mix of blood, mud and sweat made them stink more than Scarface had at the end. Even if he wasn't going to stay here for long, he would still have to change clothes soon. The only thing which was still functional was the cloak Rowland had given him when he first got here. It had smelled of donkey at first, but after he had literally boiled it for half an hour it didn't smell as bad anymore.

He got dressed, making sure he didn't ruin his clothes even more in the process and opened the door. Rowland had stopped his banging on the wooden door and had descended down to the main hall. The smell of food drifted into Shirou's nose and his stomach grumbled in anticipation. Breakfast was usually only served for young children, women and the sick or old, so the fact that Rowland was cooking breakfast for himself meant he was going all out. He knew from firsthand experience that Rowland's cooking was good, the dinners the man had cooked up for him when he brought in a bird were delicious despite the man's limited resources. Bread made from wheat, stews made from meat, mushrooms and local herbs and roasted poultry were a few of the things Rowland had taught him how to make. The fact that he had done those dishes over an open fire and without the help from a modern stove made the tavern owner look even more impressive from Shirou's viewpoint.

As he walked into the kitchen, he saw the man hunched over the fireplace and stirring into the cauldron used for cooking. He was abnormally slow and he shuffled away from the light shining into the tavern.

"You doing okay over there?" Shirou asked the tavern owner. The man had drunk quite a lot the night before and then some until he passed out. The migraine the man should have woken up with must have been epic in proportions. How he had woken up before Shirou was a feat in itself.

The baling man grumbled something as he poured the stew into two bowls and slid the smaller of the two over to Shirou. Grabbing a spoon, he ate the stew in silence. It was rather salty today, with large slices of meat mixed with chopped onions and mushrooms. Compared to Rowland's usual cuisine it was rather bland, but the man was suffering from a massive hangover. Expecting him to cook up a feast while having a headache was a bit too much, even for him who loved eating new kinds of food.

"So what's the plan?" Shirou asked between mouthfuls of stew.

Rowland peeked up from his bowl, eyes red from lack of sleep. He looked exhausted, pure and simple. Shirou felt sorry for the man, having to get up early to go to a meeting with Sir Ludvig, but a small voice told him it was his own fault for getting drunk the night before. He decided not to comment on the source of his migraine. Rowland was obviously not in the mood for hindsight observations.

"Plan?" he asked in a tired voice. His voice sounded hoarse and the expression on his face told him the man's throat was probably not in its best condition. How much did he drink, for it to be painful to speak?

"Yeah, what are you going to tell the knight? He wants an explanation doesn't he, about the wargs?" How they had killed the damn thing was one of the things he had been curious about, who had killed was another. Both of the questions concerned Shirou and the fact that he was going to meet a real knight was a little frightening, in Shirou's opinion at least. Rowland didn't seem to be worried, but the older man had decades of experience in dealing with knights. Comparing himself to the former merchant was unfair, no matter how you looked at it.

"Ah'm going to tell him you shot it down with one of your magic arrows and that you're a wizard. Ludvig's not a fool, he'll know it wasn't taken down with human arms. He's going to find out you're the one who killed it and that you're a wizard soon enough. If we lie to him now and he discovers the truth on his own he'll be furious that you tried to lie to him. On the other side, if we get into his good books then he'll be more inclined to help us in a pinch. Seeing as we're about to be invaded by the saxons and we're going to need help in the evacuation, Ah'd say we're in a big pinch." He said, wolfing down the stew before refilling his bowl.

"I see, but won't he, you know… hate wizards?" _`Magi.´ _The correct tem was Magi. Singular magus, plural Magi "He's a knight, isn't he? They aren't exactly known for being kind to wizards." More like they were known for burning them on stakes and hanging them for witchcraft. Shirou, being a magus, should probably not stay in the same room as a knight sworn to eradicate magi.

"Nah, it's fine. The knights are only supposed to kill practitioners of dark arts so you're fine. There was a huge fuss a few years ago, when Merlin got into an argument with Morgan. You know of those two, don't ya?" at Shirou's nod, he continued. "Anyway, Merlin discovered that Morgan was using dark arts not too long ago and the word spread like wildfire. Wizards like Merlin are good for the kingdom in lots of ways, but witches like Morgan who use dark arts aren't the same. They're evil, plain and simple. If you were a wizard like her then you'd be right, but Ah've seen you fight the wargs for the sake of the people in this village with me own eyes and Ah can tell you're not evil. As long as we make Ludvig see that then he won't make a fuss about it. In fact, having a wizard in the duke's kingdom would probably be a good thing for him, Ah reckon." He explained.

"How come?" Shirou asked, curious as how Rowland knew his presence would be beneficial for the duke.

"You can kill monsters. That, if anything, can be seen as something good. Even if you're not a good wizard, if the other dukes know there's a wizard in this land and he's on Vortigern's side then they'll think twice about invading. To be honest, Britannia isn't the most stable of countries right now. After the romans left, the kingdom was divided into several smaller kingdoms led by dukes or `Kings´. We were technically allied with Uther Pendragon, one of the few kings, but the old man kicked the bucket a while ago and his kid took over. Kid's supposedly a great king, but he's too busy fighting Rowena and her Rheged to gain control over Britannia. So Duke Vortigern is alone and he has to deal with the threat of the saxons and the neighboring kingdoms." Rowland continued. His bowl had been forgotten and the stew was no longer steaming. Neither Shirou nor Rowland seemed to notice though, as they began to talk about the possible ramifications.

"However, if a wizard capable of slaying monsters were to stand by his side and protect the kingdom from any invaders then even the greediest of warlords would hesitate. Even more so if the wizard resides at the border to the hostile kingdom, since it would take only a single messenger to order the wizard to attack. That's all political and complex if you ask me, but you should never underestimate the man with a bigger stick." The balding man said with a grunt. He resumed his wolfing down of his food, stopping only to refill his bowl.

Shirou ate, contemplating on what he had learned. His presence had more meaning than he had suspected. The fact that the knowledge of his presence had effects on an international scale, even though he was a child barely out of his first decade, was rather overwhelming. It made him feel like he was walking on glass and slightest misstep would come back to bite him in the rear. To begin with, his only goal was to go back to his own time as soon as possible. Staying here and affecting politicians and warlords was not his intention.

"So what should I do?" he asked the more experienced man. Even if Rowland said he had little experience in politics outside of his time as a merchant, it was still better than anything Shirou had. Advice from a person who knew what the people in charge thought was worth its weight in gold right now.

"You play along, try not to piss people off and hope for the best. Our duke's not the best and brightest of the bunch, but there are worse rulers out there, the saxons and Maleagant being a few who pop to mind. If you're lucky then you might even get a land to call your own. If you impress the duke during the saxon invasion then he's sure to give you the title of knight, of not baron. Trustworthy wizards are hard to come by, especially strong ones." He said.

Play along, huh? He might as well, considering he needed to remain here for now. He needed to study the forest and find a place to live. If he did that as a blacksmith or as a magus then what did it matter? He just hoped it wouldn't take too long. He was horrible at acting nice to people he didn't like.


	8. The Army

_What's up everybody? I'm here with yet another chapter of _**Archer of Black!** _I hope you've been looking forward to it 'cause I've been working hard on it. Before we begin, I think it's time to explain a few things about the chapter:_

_First of all, the size of the army was a big problem since the info about the population during the 5__th__-century and the armies were very different in sizes depending on which country and age you lived in. So let me explain how it came to the conclusion of the armies._

_I found a great site which spoke about the relative military power compared to the size of the population in fiction. Google: The numberless hordes and you'll find it under Writing-World. Anyway, according to the chart they have, an army is only a small part of the population, which is pretty logical considering the nature of warfare. _

_I based my theory on the grounds that England had a population of 1,4 million inhabitants who were __**free**__ men in the year of 487(Look up Historical Population of United Kingdom chart and you'll find a chart showing the population of UK from 43 AD to Present, the first centuries are kind of slow so it's hard to come up with a good estimate). Since the Visual Novel said Britannia had been split into several parts of the romans retreated, I split the population into five parts._

_1,400,000/5= 280,000._

_After removing half the population (Women) as well as the too old/young to fight, I found out that about 88% were unable to fight in a war._

_280,000*0,12= 33,600._

_The next factor would be the nobles who actually to show up for the call. Since this is a defensive battle, it is safe to assume all the nobles will answer the call, but other kingdoms would see their borders as weak and would attack them if left unguarded. Since this takes place in Britannia where several warlords fight for supremacy, I think they'd be lucky if half of the nobles answered the call in favour of fortifying their borders._

_33,600/2= 16,800_

_That's the overall strength of the south-eastern kingdom under Duke Vortigern's control. Since they have to defend the entire kingdom from their greedy, greedy neighbors the army is split into three smaller armies; the northern, the western and the southern. Since the southern is the latest and therefore the weakest, it is reasonable that it will possess fewer men and fewer supplies._

_16,600/3=5,600._

_The southern army would naturally be weaker so let's decrease their numbers by 1000-2000. And let's not forget the fact that the disease resulting from the severe lack of hygiene would kill a few dozen before the battle even started and you get a number closer to 3,500-4,000. Still, the equipment would have to be crafted from scratch since their entire armory is dedicated to two other armies first and foremost. _

_So all in all, the southern army would be fewer than the western or the northern armies and the equipment would have been nonexistent except for the richer nobles who could supply their households with armor and weapons. The only saving grace the southern army had would be the close proximity to the sea and the river of Combe Haven which guaranteed the steady source of sustenance and water. _

_Granted, a combined army of 15,000 troops in a population of 280,000 sounds impossible for the population to handle. That's 5% of the total population of the entire kingdom! The medieval armies were rarely larger than 10,000 men even when the population exceeded a million inhabitants. Henry V's army at the Battle of Agincourt was about 9,000 men, most of them archers and that was in 1415 whereas the French army was about somewhat bigger (the different sources I've found say it was between 12,000 to 36,000) Asking for an army the size of later medieval army when the population was incredibly small in comparison is more than ludicrous, but there are several possibilities it to be plausible. The fact that most of the soldiers would have to work the field while they were part of the army is one reason and the local chain of supplies is another. Since the armies are only temporary and not a standing army meant for longer engagement, the armies can be slightly bloated than they would normally be. As such, people who would normally not be considered fit for duty would be drafted regardless (people who would normally be too old or young to fight as well as women). _

_This is all just a quick explanation and I know it's not historically accurate. I've had to guess and hope the estimation is correct far too often in my research for it to be accurate. It's not even semi-historically accurate, being closer to fictional, but I simply wanted to explain why I came to the conclusion I did. _

_Let the flaming commence! My body is ready!_

* * *

Riding in a carriage was surprisingly fun. The horses pulling said carriage were well-trained, a statement supported by Rowland's reassurance. Once he had gotten past the fact that he was about to meet with a _real_ knight who may or may not kill him for being a magus, the carriage proved to be a good way to pass the time. He got to see the sights on the way, though it was mostly just forests and a river which ran down to the sea. The river had freshwater fish in it, but most of the fishing was obviously done at sea. The river was mainly for the children to learn how to fish before they joined their fathers out at sea.

The road did leave much to be desired though. The muddy road had dissolved under the heavy rain and the wheels had gotten caught several times before they reached the army encampment. Rowland had cursed under his breath each time it happened and had asked Shirou for help in pushing the cart out of the mud. To be honest, he would have preferred walking to the camp rather than have to push the cart on the way back as well, but the view and the fact that he was traveling in a horse carriage made up for the trouble.

The army had camped just a mile away from Blackbay village, most likely to be able to respond to the invasion as quickly as possible. As a result, it didn't take long before they had reached the large camp and the soldiers within it. There were dozens of large tents inside the camp, covering the inhabitants from the rain and wind. Several smaller wooden shacks had also been built and Shirou could see the blacksmiths and cooks inside the shacks, working to provide the army with their trade. Everywhere he looked, men of varying ages walked back and forth as they talked rapidly between each other. Some wore armour and carried spears or swords while others were barely clothed. One man only wore pants that didn't even reach his ankles and a shirt which could barely conceal his biceps.

As if that wasn't enough, he was stunned when he saw children, barely older than him, walking around with short spears and daggers. They didn't wear even a single piece of armor, not even a helmet or chainmail. They appeared scared and they all huddled together near a fire, maybe thinking close proximity to people their own age would provide safety from the scary men around them.

Obviously neither the logistics nor the organization in this era weren exactly topnotch. When he had heard he'd be seeing a medieval army he'd thought he'd see knights wearing armour of polished steel and riding on white horses while breaking through the enemy line. Reality turned out to be nothing more than a ragtag group of peasants and fishermen who had been given a sword or a spear and told to fight with it. How were they going to win with this? Was this actually the standard military in this time period? Somehow he found it hard to believe that commoners and children wielding pointy sticks were the norm in terms of military strength.

But why would the army look like this then? If the plan was to train and outfit them with weapons and armour then it would take more than the few weeks left before the saxons arrived. He knew steel wasn't exactly cheap and supplying an entire army was expensive, but there had be more than this? Some of these people looked about to keel over from old age, he didn't want to think about how they would be able to stand up against an entire invasion.

"Come on, let's go. Ludvig's in the Commander's tent and it'd be rude to keep him waiting. Ah'd rather get this over and done with." Rowland said, his gruff voice breaking through the cacophony of sounds the camp was producing.

They walked to the white tent, the tallest and largest of the lot until they were stopped by the guards stationed outside. After telling them that sir Ludvig was expecting them, the guards let them in, though they did cast a suspicious eye at him. Little children were probably not expected to meet with the commanders of an army, especially not one about to face an invasion.

"I see you two made it here on time at least. The road didn't give you too much trouble I hope?" Ludvig said behind the desk. The knight was scribbling something onto a piece of parchment with a feather quill, the feather being almost ridiculously long.

The tent they were in had been larger than the rest of the camp's for a reason it seemed. In the middle of the tent was a large table with a map on it, the British Isles being depicted on the parchment. The lower side of the parchment even had small parts of France and Germany on it as well. Several wooden figures painted in different colors were placed on top of the map, the red blocks on the mainland of Europe and the blue on the Britannia. Was this the legendary war council? A small spark of excitement bubbled up inside of him, the result of countless movies about medieval battles surfacing.

"Got stuck a couple o' times, but nothing too severe. Rain's always pissy this time o' year, there's no need to make a fuss over it now." Rowland said stiffly. The man's headache had stuck and his mood had plummeted since they had left the village. Getting stuck in the mud in the middle of the rain did that to you, but Shirou had been too distracted by the scenery to get bogged down by the road and its semantics.

"Still, fixing the road should be a priority now that Hastings's about to become a major battlefield. We had trouble getting all the troops here and I can't see it being any easier leaving either. It will have to wait after the battle however, we can't give the saxons any advantages should we fail to repel them." He said tiredly as he got up from his chair. The bearded man gave Shirou a glance before focusing on Rowland.

"Now then, please tell me what happened in Blackbay." He said, in a tone that brooked no argument. He didn't even spare Shirou a single thought, focusing only on Rowland. As if Shirou wasn't even worthy of his attention…

Somehow he knew it was going to be one of those days.

**AOB**

"So let me make sure I got this right: fifteen years ago, the 'Wargs' followed the Saxon invasion and have spent the following years preying on the village. Charles went to the court once to ask for help, but when the soldiers didn't find any traces of the wargs he simply gave up. A week ago, you turn up and proclaim you're a wizard and you kill all the beasts in the forest in a single night before you challenge the large one in the middle of the village. The battle ruined most of the village, but you finally destroyed the creature's skull with an arrow. Am I correct?" he asked, disbelief evident on his face. Rowland and he nodded, both knowing that it was the truth, despite the way he said it made it sound impossible.

"Aye, though you forgot the part about Charles forbidding us from bothering the viscount about the monsters. He was very harsh on those who broke that rule o' his. Some o' the brats still have scars from the lashing he gave 'em." Rowland reminded him. Ludvig scowled even further at the reminder, obviously furious that the baron had been allowed to do that for a decade and a half.

"Yes, thank you, I'll be sure to report that to the duke when he arrives." The knight responded, almost smiling from the thought of seeing the arrogant baron paying for his crimes. Shirou wanted to tell him the man was under a heavy burden, but even he wanted him to pay for his crimes. Despite what Kiritsugu had told him about not letting his feelings rule him, the baron had been the major cause of death for over fifteen years now. Sending the man to prison was almost too lenient for a monster like Charles Distray.

Rowland froze for a second, before he asked in a quiet voice. "The duke is coming here, to Hastings?" Ludvig's expression told him the knight was amused by the tavern owner's reaction.

"Indeed, since he had to send most of his remaining army to the southern borders of his kingdom, duke Vortigern felt unsafe in his northern castle. He won't be joining the battle of course, but he'll be commanding the battle from afar. It's only natural that a regent is present at the battle for his land." He explained, his eyes gleaming with hidden mirth. Rowland recovered from his surprise and frowned.

Shirou looked at the dialogue between the two elderly men. What was so strange about Vortigern? Was it so odd for him to go to the battlefield to command his army? The fact that Rowland was surprised by the news meant there was something deeper going on, some factor Shirou was missing that the two men knew about. Vortigern was not meant to come here and yet he was on his way to Hastings? If so, why was he coming here?

"Never mind, Ah'm sure he has his reasons for leaving his citadel. Before that, we need to talk about the village's quota. Since you know about the wargs, you know we can't supply you with the men you need. We lost a few men in the attack and we're behind on taxes and supplies as it is. Sending four men off to fight the Saxons will mean the death o' the village, even if we win the war." Rowland said, fixing Ludvig with a ferocious glare. It was an odd sight, to see Rowland scowl at someone with such intensity. Ludvig was unfazed by the former merchant's stare though.

"I understand your plight, Rowland, but this is bigger than your village. If we don't get the men necessary to fend off the Saxons then the entire kingdom is in danger. We already made an exception for the border villages, to make special offers for knights, Men-at-Arms and archers. You can't expect me to budge even further on the matter. I have a kingdom to defend, I can't bend at the whim of a single fishing village every time a call-to-arms is given. The duke would have my head." The knight said, sighing at Rowland's insistence. Rowland knew what to say, since he and Shirou had agreed on what to do beforehand.

Most likely, Ludvig also knew what would happen, but was deliberately holding back. Both of them were trying to take as much as possible from the other while losing as little as possible themselves. Revealing their vulnerabilities in the start was simply to show the other party who was the one in need the most. Ludvig wanted soldiers for the army, while Rowland wanted help for the village. Neither could have what they wanted if the other person got what they wanted. It was a verbal variety of a Tug of War, except it was merely a prelude to an actual war.

"Ah don't care about what the duke will do to you, since my home will be destroyed if we spare a single man right now. Tell me, exactly who will you take from the village? One o' the fishermen, when we're barely scrapin' by as it is? Or the blacksmith who's just recently lost his master and has not been given the time to teach an apprentice? Or the farmer or the builder? Both whom are the only people who know their trade in our village! Or is it me you want, the man who has to help out everyone in the entire village every season when the boats need help or when the fields need fixin'? We can't give you the help you need, simply because we need help as well. Charles and the wargs have been bleedin' us dry for the last fifteen years to the point Ah'll doubt we'll see the end o' the winter without help!" Rowland made his case, fury clear on his face. Whether or not he was actually furious he couldn't tell, but the man sure as hell looked like it. His eyes, red from lack of sleep, were wide open and a vein was throbbing on his forehead.

Ludvig mirrored his expression and yelled at the balding man in front of him. "If I don't get the men we need then the kingdom will fall and we will all die at the hands of the Saxons! You don't even need to supply ten men like the inner villages need, only four. Robin of Blackbay arrived last night, a Man-at-Arms who's worth six men. All you need is to give me four other men, or an archer, and we'll be even and you can go back to the rebuilding of your village." He said, the muscles in his neck and jaw tensing up, giving him the unhealthy appearance of a bull about to thrash the target in front of him.

"And where am I supposed to find four men to spare at this time o' year, huh? Or an archer for that matter?" Rowland asked.

That was his cue.

"I'm a pretty good archer, y'know. I'm pretty sure I can do as a bowmen instead." He interrupted the two of them. Both of the elderly men turned to him, one with suspicion, the other with hope.

_(Flashback)_

_They had been about to load the cargo onto the carriage when Rowland had said it._

"_What do you mean 'I can't volunteer'?" Shirou asked, annoyed. That was the entire point of him joining the army. To make sure the village doesn't lose any of their own men and doom the entire village to starve or freeze to death._

"_Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, brat. Ah'm just sayin' that you can't volunteer from the get-go." The bartender/ tavern owner said as he took one of the boxes and lifted it onto the carriage._

"_And why not?" Shirou asked once more, irritation creeping into his voice._

"'_Cause Ludvig's a smart bastard who knows how to manipulate people. He might be a knight and holds honour above all else, but it doesn't change the fact that he knows how to play people like a fiddle. If you go in with the intention o' joinin' the army then he'll manipulate you into thinkin' you're not a villager and then he'll insist on makin' the village provide even more soldiers. Give him a hand and he'll take an arm… and your leg while he's at it. You need to be careful when you're dealing with men like him, knights or not." He explained, his eyes showing caution at the mentioning of the knight. _

"_So how am I supposed to fill Blackbay's quota then? The entire point of me joining the army is to make sure nobody else has to go. If he's as smart as you say, then I can't help you." To be honest, he didn't want to join the army at all. Kiritsugu had warned him about wars, that it's hell on earth. To be forced to kill people who were most likely forced to fight because their kings or presidents simply wanted more land, more resources, more power. He simply wanted to find a way to get back home as quickly as possible, maybe help the village while he was at it, but joining the army was a different matter altogether. If he joined then he would have to kill humans, simply because some greedy warlord on the other side of the sea thought it would be a good idea. _

_But if Blackbay got destroyed then he would know that the people in the village had died because he refused to help, because he was too scared to fight. A hero of justice would never do that, Kiritsugu would never do that. Letting an army go wild to kill and plunder as much as they wanted was the exact opposite of what Kiritsugu would have done. Kiritsugu had spent his entire life fighting for the greater good, sacrificing whatever innocence he had so that people would be able to spend their lives in peace. He would have done everything he could to stop the Saxons from invading Britannia, even if he had to get his hands dirty._

_It didn't mean he had to like it though._

"_We tell him about the wargs first, make him realize we've been sufferin' for years and make us look as weak as possible. Ludvig knows he can't demand too many people from a village, especially not a fishing village like ours. Fish makes up a large part of the entire kingdom's food supply and if the people can't fish then everyone will starve and die, not somethin' Ludvig is keen on bein' responsible for. Then we point out what Charles has been doin' as well and shift some of the blame on the nobles, make him realize his own people are partly responsible for it. That way we can demand more from him than before, without bein' punished for it of course." The large man bent down to pick up a box and grunted as the weight proved almost too much for him._

"_While he's busy demandin' more men, we have to demand more for ourselves. If we give too early then he'll win at the expense o' the village. The moment he mentions an archer in exchange for the men he needs, that's the moment you strike." _

_(Flashback)_

Ludvig stared at him, but he couldn't tell what the older man was thinking. He was most likely coming up with a plan to spin what he just said to the army's advantage, if what Rowland said was true.

"You're good with a bow?" The knight asked, suspicion on his face.

Why was he suspicious? He had just told him that he had killed Scarface with a magic arrow, he couldn't ask for a better archer! Killing a phantasmal creature wasn't easy, even one as weak as a warg. He severely doubted the man had any other bowmen who could use Magecraft in battle.

Oh wait, was this what Rowland had meant with Ludvig being a `smart bastard´? If Ludvig didn't believe he was a good archer then he would only count as a single soldier. Since children were already in the army he would probably not have to worry about his age being an issue, but his quality as an archer was a different matter.

"Yeah, I think so. Want to see?" he challenged, heart beating in his chest. He needed to make himself look as powerful as possible. If Ludvig really was a smart as Rowland had said, then the tiniest mistake would cost them dearly.

"I would very much like to see that. I hope you won't disappoint me, I've seen brats brag about their skills so many times I've made it an obligation to take twice as many men from the villages whose men fail to live up to their word. Consider yourself warned." He said, leading them out of the tent.

_`What? Twice the men?! He couldn't do that, could he?´_ Shirou's thoughts screamed at him, telling him to abandon the plan. If he failed then the village was doomed. Instead of four people having to fight a war, Blackbay would lose sixteen people instead. The village of 40-50 people couldn't handle that kind of loss. They'd starve to death before the winter even got to them.

Shirou's vision swam and he felt his stomach twist and turn. What if he failed to convince the Sir Ludvig? Everyone would blame him for it. Kiritsugu would be ashamed of him and he'd never become a hero of justice. He had failed, he had failed, he had failed, he had…

Rowland's large hand smacked him on the back, breaking him away from his thoughts.

"Good job so far, lad, but be careful. Ah don't know about that rule o' his, but Ah wouldn't think too much about it. He wouldn't be able to take that many recruits from Blackbay without forcing the baron to compensate from the other villages. If that happens then the word will spread and the other nobles will react. Try not to mess up though, Ah don't think it would be a good idea to do that." he said, assuring him that everything was in place. The balding man spoke with such conviction that it shattered all thoughts of failure in his head. Determination filled his chest and he started breathing properly again even though he didn't know he had been holding it in the first place.

"Yeah, I've got it! I'll show him how an Emiya uses a bow." He said, confidence returning to him once more. Rowland stared at him with amusement.

"So that's what you name was! I knew it was something funny, but I had completely forgotten what it was." Rowland laughed as he followed the knight outside, ignoring Shirou's pout.

He followed the two elderly men, struggling to keep up with their fast pace. How two men over fifty years old in the Middle Ages were able to walk faster than a child trained in martial arts was beyond him, but he was going to find out. He wasn't going to be a shorty forever and he knew he wasn't walking as fast as he could, but their pace was abnormal.

They stopped at a corner of the camp lined with bales of hay. The bales had been stacked into a pyramid form and simple red targets had been painted on the hay arrows had been aimed at the targets, but most had been removed to be used again. A few arrows were still impaled on the bales, most likely the result of a single archer being too lazy to clean up after himself. On the other side of the camp's corner were different bows of size and colour and baskets with arrows. A quick analysis told him that the bows were both old and new and were made from a variety of materials, such as yew, ash and elm. Some of them looked like they belonged in a museum and he really hoped they wouldn't be used for battle.

"Since you're so confident in your skill, show me where you confidence comes from." He pointed at the bales of hay. "You will fire twenty arrows at the target and should they all hit their mark then I'll recognize you as an archer of reputable skill. Fail and you will enter the army as a foot soldier. I'm sure you understand what will happen if you refuse to join at all, after your proud words before." the knight said with cold resolution.

Shirou didn't need to think what would happen if he ran away after talking to the man. Just a few minutes ago he had been yelling at Rowland until his face was red, but now he couldn't even see a single sign of that anger. Had it all been a façade? Was the man capable of switching between personas at will, being angry one second and calm the other? The night before he had fought to keep control over himself, but now there wasn't a single sign that spoke of the earlier shouting and anger.

"Yeah, I've got it." he responded, a small hint of unease creeping up his spine like a cold snake. He summoned his Fae bow, and was greeted with the sight of Ludvig gaping in surprise. Had he not believed him when he had said he was a magus? Sure, he hadn't shown him any magic, but a normal human wouldn't be able to take down a warg without magic.

He traced an arrow, a simple bodkin arrowhead on the tip and nocked it. He didn't even need to reinforce his eyesight to hit the target, a 150 meters was easy for him even without Magecraft. Using his Fae bow and his reinforced strength, the arrow soared across the clearing and embedded itself in the hay painted in red. The arrow struck a little to the left of the bull's-eye, just enough to make room for a few others. Shirou nocked the second arrow and let it fly, scoring another bull's-eye.

This went on for a while, every arrow he shot striking the center of the target until there wasn't enough room for the arrows anymore. By the 20th arrow, the entire first ring of the painted target was covered in arrows…

But not a single arrow had left the first ring of the target.

Shirou's fingers were sore. He had never fired that many arrows from his Fae bow in a single instance before. The friction of his fingers against the wooden shafts were enough to burn his fingers if used repeatedly, which was the reason he normally didn't fire this many arrows, but he had ignored it in favour of thinking on what would happen if he failed. A sore hand was better than a dead village.

"You were too slow."

"What?" Shirou asked as the knight's loud voice broke through his thoughts.

"You were too slow. During battle you will have to fire as many arrows as possible to kill the enemy's forces before they reach the infantry. At the pace you were firing, the enemies will have reached our army before the fifth arrow reached them. Archers are required to thin out the ranks of the opposing forces as quickly as possible. Didn't you know this?" Ludvig said with a calm air about him. The knight was looking down on him, judging him.

"So what if he fired slower than what you wanted him to? He'll do it faster when the invasion starts, and he'll kill more Saxons than anyone else in your makeshift army! He was simply nervous right now." Rowland roared at the knight.

"You want me to let this boy join while four strong men will go fishing instead? That's folly, plain and simple." Ludvig did not yell or even raise his voice at the tavern owner's provocation, instead he spoke with calm and collected words. Rowland noticed the abrupt change in the knights demeanor and narrowed his eyes.

"You… Exactly what is it that you want, Ludvig? A normal Commander would be more than happy to have an archer o' such skill and a wizard to boot, so why won't you accept him in the army? You're after somethin' and you're goin' to tell me what it is!" He growled in a low voice, switching from enraged to quiet and deadly. Ludvig chuckled at the tone of the larger man, as if he didn't fear the other person's significant advantage in physical strength. His confidence might be supported by the fact that he was armed, but anyone would be nervous if faced with a man over two meters tall and built like a bull.

"I simply want to win this war… and make a profit while I'm at it. If pissing you off will get me what I want then I'm willing to make that sacrifice." Ludvig's tone was cold and void of emotion, like his vocal cords had been turned to ice.

"A profit? You want to make a profit from the Saxons?" Rowland's voice was filled with disbelief.

"Yes, is that so hard to comprehend? Before I explain more to you, let's return to the Commander's quarters. I don't like speaking in such a public place." He waved for them to follow him as they walked towards the tent they had left just minutes earlier. He looked at Rowland to make sense of what he had heard, but Rowland looked just as confused as he was.

**AOB  
**"What did you mean when you said you wanted to make a profit? I'm finding it pretty hard to believe a knight could benefit from an invasion." Shirou asked the knight. The knight in front of him had been the first actual knight he had met, but the truth couldn't be further from the his hopes and dreams. Knights were supposed to be allies of justice, brave heroes who fought monsters and protected their lords with honour and pride. How the man could say he wanted to get rich from a war which was about to end with the deaths of hundreds of people had made his blood boil.

"Do you have any idea how long my family has been fighting as knights?" the bearded knight asked them. When they didn't answer he continued. "We fought under the romans as soldiers, but when the romans left us we fought under the duke. Every generation of my family since has been a knight, but we have never reached higher than that. Not even when that fool Vortigern almost cost us Hastings by asking the Saxons to join forces with us against the picts and I fought to take it back did the duke reward me with the status of baron," he said, hatred burning in his eyes.

"And what will this invasion change?" Rowland asked, eyeing the knight with caution. Ludvig chuckled coldly, pinning Shirou with his stare.

"This time will be different. Now I have a plan to rise through the ranks of nobility and claim my rightful place amongst them. You see, last time I was unable to properly loot the battlefield for what it was worth. Maleagant had command over the situation back then and most of the valuables the Saxons brought were given to him, but now I have command on the battlefield. Once I have looted the dead for what they're worth, I'll take the ships and plunder the saxon borders. With the wealth I'll have accumulated I'll be able to buy my own land and the duke will have to give me the title," the man spoke with such conviction that Shirou almost didn't realize the man had revealed his plan.

"Wait, you're going to attack them instead? I thought this was a defending army, not an invading one!" he exclaimed in shock.

"It's called a counter attack and it's very effective when you need to make an example. If they wish to attack us then they'll need to suffer the consequences. Once we have slaughtered their forces we'll use their own ships to attack their northern borders and leave just as quickly," the knight said nonchalantly. He said it with such ease that it was merely the natural thing to do, as if the lives of the villagers were nothing compared to making the Saxons pay.

"How do you even know the duke will allow it? There's no guarantee he'll want to attack them in response, not when the other dukes want to expand their kingdoms. It sounds like a fool's gambit if you ask me," Rowland said, frowning at the knight.

"Then it's a good thing that nobody asked you then! He'll allow it once the duke hears of the riches I'll bring back. Slaves, gold and alcohol, do you think our weak-minded duke will say no to such treasures? Or do you think he'll give me a pat on the back and ask me for a cut? Vortigern is nothing, if not predictable. You of all people should know this, Rowland," Ludvig responded.

So this was why he wanted more men for the army, so that he could have a stronger force when plundering the mainland. The Saxons would already be weak since the invaders had been defeated and the Britannian army was still…

"Hold on," he said, causing both of the men to look at him. "How do you know if your own army will still be strong enough to invade the Saxons? For all you know, the army might be defeated or lose too many men to carry on," he asked the knight. Ludvig narrowed his eyes at the question, most likely not expecting a child his age to ask something so complex. Rowland also seemed to realize what had been asked, as the large man scratched his chin.

"The lad's right, considerin' the shape of the army it would be odd to think it would be able to attack right after fendin' off an invasion. You're hidin' somethin' else, aren't you? What is it?" Rowland demanded and for the first time since they began, Ludvig seemed to… squirm. Rowland noticed the action.

"You did somethin', didn't you? What was it, sold your soul to the devil?" He guessed, but froze when the knight broke eye contact. "Oi, don't tell me you actually…?"

"Of course not, you insane buffoon!" Ludvig cut him off with a roar. "You really think I'd do something as stupid as to sell my soul to the devil? For a chance to become a baron? I wouldn't do that even if it meant becoming a king!" he shouted at them, saliva missing Shirou's face by an inch. "No, I… I made a deal…"

"With whom?" both Rowland and Shirou asked, with different tones. Shirou was merely curious what kind of person could make the stoic knight react like Ludvig had, whereas Rowland was more careful in his questioning, appearing more frightened than curious.

"Morgan Lefay," he said, after a moment of hesitation.

Rowland reared back, as if stung by the revelation. His eyes widened and he sucked in air like his lungs had been attached to a vacuum cleaner. Shirou had heard of Morgan before, the dark witch who had betrayed King Arthur and caused his death, but was she really that dangerous? Wasn't it kind of strange for her to be the treacherous witch if everyone already knew she was evil before she did anything?

Wait, hadn't Rowland said something about her this morning? Something about her and Merlin not getting along or something, maybe it was about the reason she was feared?

"Are you mad? You'd brin' the witch into the duke's army? If the duke finds out then he'll have your hide, or he'll ask Merlin to turn you into a frog!" the large tavern owner exclaimed.

"I didn't have any choice! I can't stay as a knight, not when my wife is pregnant and I'm in my sixth decade on this earth. I need to leave behind some kind of legacy for my child, even if it's just a baron's land!" Ludvig defended himself, waving his hands in front of him in a nervous gesture. Rowland wasn't having it though, and continued his interrogation.

"And what did she ask for? A hundred humans to sacrifice for her dark rituals? Maybe a couple o' newborns while she was at it?" he asked, fury once more clouding his vision.

"She wanted me to bring her a drinking horn one of the saxon chiefs possesses. In return she would curse the leaders of the Saxons, make then delirious and foolish. They'd make the wrong decisions and my forces would slaughter them in the confusion. Once the invading army is defeated, we'd take the survivors as slaves and attack their borders. Once there, I would find the horn and give it to her. I get rich, the duke gets richer, the soldiers get whatever they can plunder and the Saxons are beaten back with minimal casualties on our side. It's a perfect plan and everybody wins!" Ludvig explained, and even Shirou had to agree. With the exception being that people would still die during the battle regardless of how foolish the leaders were, it had the highest chance of success. The problem was…

"What kind of horn was it she wanted?" If Morgan Lefay wanted a drinking horn from another country then it was safe to assume that it was magical. Morgan was one of the most famous practitioners of magecraft in the world and her abilities far outranked anything the magi from his own time period could hope to match. Whatever it is she wanted, it would be unique and/or powerful. If it was too powerful to leave in Morgan's hands then he would have to break the deal with her. But to break a deal with one of the world's most notorious witches… it wasn't something to be taken lightly. Losing one's life wasn't too much of a stretch, given her rather unsavory reputation.

"It was just a stupid horn a chief owns, she simply gave me a compass that would lead me to it and I would know where to find it. What harm would it do to give it to her? It's just a stupid horn anyway, it's not like the woman needs anymore magical powers, and she's already the most powerful witch in Britannia," the knight explained. He had calmed down and regained some of his calmer exterior, but he still looked uncomfortable.

"You really think the army will survive the battle? How large do you think the invadin' army is in comparison?" Rowland asked… hopefully?

Shirou stared at the man, shocked that he was actually agreeing with what the knight said. He had admitted to starting a war for the sake of a simple title! He'd let hundreds, maybe thousands of people die for the sake of leaving a piece of land for his kids! Why would he agree to this?!

"Rowland, don't tell me you're actually going along with this? He just said he's doing this for the profit!" he asked the balding bartender/chef. He actually felt a little betrayed, thinking the man was going to be on his side after all that had happened.

"Ah know he's doin' it for the gold, but the Saxons were goin' to sack the village either way! At least we might survive if he does things right. An army with stupid leaders is better than an army with smart ones and our army isn't the best one either. Ah'm not goin' to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if it means the survival o' me people!" Rowland said heatedly in response. The expression on his face told him he didn't like what Ludvig was doing, but he was doing his best to look at the bright side.

Shirou opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't for a proper response. How could he reject the only chance of saving Blackbay, the only place he could call home in this era, no matter how little time he had spent in it? It wasn't like he could do it any better, even if he was a magus, a third rate magus was only slightly better than a human. Compared to Morgan Lefay, his own Magecraft was less than pathetic. No, that wasn't even enough to describe it. Morgan was world famous even in his age as the darkest of witches and she had been born in a time when Magecraft was close to true magic. Pathetic didn't even come close to describing it. Comparing their powers was like comparing heaven and earth. Even if he offered his own services in place of Morgan, he wouldn't even be able to be a tenth as useful as the female magus.

"I'm… sorry," he apologized quietly, not daring to look Rowland in the eye. He felt ashamed of his thoughts and he didn't think he could look him in the eye without revealing the tears in the corners of his eyes.

"It's nothin', lad. So what's the difference in power between us and them then? Your spies must have told you somethin' right?" Rowland continued, focusing on Ludvig.

The knight rose from the table he had been sitting at and walked to the map in the center of the room. He pointed at the wooden blocks depicting some kind of person, but the resemblance was horrible at best. He doubted even he could do worse when it came to carving.

"We've been recruiting people from all over the kingdom, but most of the forces we currently possess are tied up defending our western and northern borders. Our current army numbers at 3,300 men and a hundred women in the back acting as reserves. Most of them are simple infantry with little to no experience in battle, but we do have 400 knights and 200 light cavalry. We've set up training for the infantry and the archers, but we can't expect them to grasp the art of combat in a few weeks. I was hoping to train at least 200 archers before the battle, however at the rate we're going I'd be lucky to get even a third that number," he said, pointing at the blocks standing over Britannia.

"And the Saxons? How strong are they?" Rowland asked as he inspected the red blocks.

"From what the spies told us, and Morgan confirmed with her magic, the invading force will be close to 4,300 men strong, with at least a 200 being cavalry. They're still preparing though, so more might arrive before they attack. According to Morgan, they'll attack in a few weeks, maybe six if we're lucky, since a storm ravaged their lands not too long ago. They'll need to rebuild before they send their warriors off, giving us much needed time to train and fortify ourselves," the knight said, arranging the red blocks on the northern borders of the mainland. Rowland sighed at the news and scratched his beard.

"So they outnumber us already and more are comin'? Can we count on more soldiers arrivin' to help us?" he asked, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Maybe a few hundred, five at most. We can't handle too large an army either, not after we took most of the farmers and fishermen to fight on the frontlines. Food and water are the major issues when it comes down to it, but weapons and armor are close seconds. We can get water from the river and the fishing villages nearby can supply us with fish, but we can only hold out for a few weeks if the army is too large. The western army and the northern army also require supplies and we're stretched thin as it is." He let out a long sigh and rubbed his face with his large palms. "Right now we need weapons of any kind. Spears are easy to make, but that's about the only weapon we can forge in time for the battle. I had been hoping that most of the nobles would be able to supply their soldiers with weapons and armor, but the damn fools showed up with axes and knives meant to chop wood and cut food."

"Fuck." The surprisingly vulgar word slipped out of the large man's mouth at the bad news. Both Shirou and Ludvig agreed withthe simple statement, Shirou doing it more out of the situation than the actual word itself.

"So what's your plan then?" Shirou asked, wiping the tears from his eyes. He needed to make himself useful, a hero of justice didn't dwell on past events. "You must have come up with some kind of counter-measure."

"I made up a few plans, but I can't say they'll work completely. Some can even be called dumb by present company, not that present company is smart to begin with," he said, looking pointedly at Rowland.

"Oi."

"Let's hear it," Shirou said, ignoring Rowland's indignant response.

Sir Ludvig eyed him for a second before he began. "Regarding the training of the soldiers I've come up with a basic training regime. Most of them will be wielding spears and few will have shields so they'll be learning the shield wall. The ones in the back will be using axes or knives and will hopefully not die early on. The archers are the largest problem. None of the archer can hit anything beyond fifty meters, pretty pathetic since they need to break the ranks before the Saxons reach our own forces…"

"I'll take care of them," He said resolutely. Both Roland and Ludvig stared at him in surprise.

"You sure you can do that, lad?" Roland said, unsure if he should question him.

"I'm sure. I can also show them how to make bows since your own stock are pitiful and some of them look like they'll do more harm to the archer than the enemy if used. I think I also have a solution to your lack of weapon, but tell me more about your plans first." He motioned for him to continue. Ludvig hesitated at first, but did as he asked.

"I'd also like to turn Blackbay village into a military fort. By turning the village into a more defendable structure, we can use it as a base and react to the invasion quicker. Of course, the soldiers will be the ones to build the walls and defensive barriers. What do you say, Rowland?" He asked the tavern owner. The man in question simply scratched his beard for a while before he responded.

"Shouldn't you be askin' Charles that? He's the baron of Hastings, not me." He replied. Ludvig shook his head, causing Rowland to raise his eyebrow in interest.

"Distray has been known his weaknesses and cowardice for a long time now, even before you informed me about the wargs. The man has repeatedly shown inadequacy and stupidity, which happens to be one of the reasons he has not been summoned to the court for quite some time and why he's been put under the rule of the viscount. This business with the wargs was just the final nail in the coffin. The moment the duke hears of his failure to contain the wargs, he'll execute the baron for treason. I'd rather not waste my time asking a dead man for his opinion about a battle he won't even live to see." Ludvig explained coldly. Rowland nodded, taking a deep breath before answering the question. Was he going to defend the baron? They had been friends at one point, hadn't they?

"Do it, it'll give the village a higher chance of survival and it means we won't have to do either. It's a win-win in mah from where Ah'm standin'. Think you can get some o' the soldiers to rebuild the houses while they're at it?" He added at the end, as an afterthought crossed his mind.

"If they have nothing better to do, then why not? Most of them will be training for the battle though so don't hope for too much, I'm going to make sure they're ready for it. I can't attack them if my army is in tatters."

"Got it. Ah'll tell the village to start rebuldin', you come whenever you're ready to start your own construction." Rowland said. Ludvig nodded in appreciation.

"Thank you, I'm grateful for your assistance. Speaking of which, is it possible to allow the fishermen in the army to use your fishing vessels? Your own fishermen can't supply us with fish on your own. I have a surplus of seamen, but not enough boats to set sail to. Of course, we'd only use them after you've returned for the day and we'd repair any damage caused to the boats." He asked respectfully. Rowland nodded and Ludvig tanked him once more.

It was oddly uncomfortable how relaxed the men were with each other, even after having argued so ferociously just moments earlier. One minute they're trying to tear each other's throats out and the next they're talking like old friends. Shirou felt like he was the odd one out, the one who was weird for not understanding their relationship. It wasn't normal to argue and then befriend a person so quickly. You needed to distance yourself from the other person and calm down first. Then you'd have to talk things out before you could act civil with together like Rowland and Ludvig was. He wasn't used to the odd pace the two were setting, not after spending so much time with Taiga and Kiritsugu.

To be honest, Taiga and Kiritsugu weren't the best examples either. One was the hyperactive heir to a yakuza organization while the other was the most infamous terrorist the world has ever known. Using them as the standard was an exercise in stupidity.

"I think we're done here for today." Ludvig's voice broke him out of his thoughts. Had he really lost himself in his inner dialogue that he had missed what they had talked about? He needed to focus on what was happening more, concentration had been one of his greatest flaws according to his dad.

"Before we leave, can we go visit the blacksmith? I want to try something out." He spoke, stopping the men in their handshakes. Both of them looked at Shirou, not knowing what he meant before they remembered what Shirou had said before.

"You mean the solution you had to our weapons problem? Please, go ahead." The knight motioned for him to lead the way, a first since he had arrived to the camp. Ludvig had been the one to lead them along, a sign of strength and superiority. He must have lost the need for power once the initial conflict had been overcome.

They walked over to the one of the blacksmith, a muscular man in the process of smithing a spearhead. The man beside him was attaching the sharp blade to the wooden shaft made from ash, if Shirou's eyes weren't mistaking him. Both of them looked tired and their movements were sluggish, a sign of the intense workload they must have been forced to endure.

"Commander." They greeted rather tiredly before they continued their work. Ludvig nodded at their greeting, turning to Shirou once he saw their concentration return to their tasks at hand.

"Well archer, show me your solution." He said, expectations clear in his eyes.

Shirou didn't respond, instead walking over to the blacksmith's workplace. There were plenty of iron scraps in his forge being heated to the point of glowing, with even more cold metal on the side just waiting to be forged. The various tools that lined the walls told him the man had prepared for the task of smithing, but not a single one had been used aside from the tools required to forge spearheads. The blacksmith and his apprentice must have been working on spears ever since they got here, only stopping to eat and rest. Hopefully Shirou would be able to ease their workload a bit. He picked up a small piece of iron, one barely large than his palm. The cold metal was heavy, far heavier than it looked, but not too heavy to be used as a spearhead.

"Excuse me, but is this more or less how much you use when you make a spear?" he asked the blacksmith. The man looked at him for a moment before he answered, humoring him as he took a pause from his work.

"It's a little less actually, you'd have to melt it down with something else to use it for a spear. If we made the blade too small then it would break under the force used. The point would be too delicate to handle more than a few stabs at anything." The blacksmith said. His apprentice nodded his head, agreeing with what his master said.

"Thank you." Shirou said gratefully, bowing his head in gratitude.

"Trace on."

A second later he held a spearhead in his hands, thinner and sharper than the ones actually used on normal spear. Of course, he had reinforced it at the same time, making it stronger than a larger steel blade. It wouldn't break under the strain of stabbing a few shields or chainmail. He doubted even slamming it with a hammer would break it even. Since the reinforcement would wear off the extraordinary strength it possessed would disappear, but the shape of the spearhead would remain. At the same time he had removed the unnecesary impurities in the steel so it would have the same strength as a spear with twice the amount of steel. If he had more time he could use alchemy to convert the outer layers of the steel into a harder alloy, but this would do for now. Both the blacksmith and Sir Ludvig looked at his use of Magecraft in shock, before the knight started smiling in excitement. The man walked up to Shirou and took the spearhead from his hands.

"Amazing, you used magic to create this? Did you give it any magical abilities, fire or lightning perhaps? How many can you make?" The knight asked in rapid succession.

"Um, I actually used Magecraft to make it and it was pretty simple. It didn't even really use that much magical energy either so I can make hundreds of them without a problem. And no, I didn't give it any magical properties except to making stronger and sturdier so it won't break in the middle of battle. You can try and break it on the anvil if you want to." He said, pointing at the blacksmith's forge. Ludvig nodded at the man by the anvil and held the spearhead for the man to test. The smith eyed the creation with suspicion and reluctantly accepted the knight's orders, gripping the sharp metal with his tongs instead of his hands. Being careful not to touch it, the man placed it on the anvil and raised his hammer. He swung the hammer down on the iron spear, and impact that created sparks and sound.

But the sharp spearhead did not break.

It wasn't even dented actually. The reinforced point endured the tremendous force and did not chip or bend from the hammer. Both the blacksmith and the knight gaped at the sight, the small and delicate-looking spearhead almost gleaming in the sunlight.

"Want me to make more of them?" Shirou asked the Commander, knowing the answer. The knight nodded at the question.

"Please do so. Think you can make about three thousand or so?" Ludvig said.

"Give me a few days and I'll see what I can do." he said. He pondered what the best possible way to make the weapons was before he turned to the knight. "You're going to work on the village right? To turn it into a fortress?" Sir Ludvig nodded in affirmative.

"I'm going to send a company of soldiers to the village tomorrow to start construction since we can't even train them to use weapons to begin with. Is something wrong?" The Commander-in Chief wondered. Shirou shook his head and explained his reasoning.

"I'm going to help the rebuilding of the village so I have to be there sometimes. I was thinking of maybe alternating between making spears and training the archers while I'm at the village. Is it possible to send the archers as well so they can train there?" The knight pondered the question for a minute or so.

To be honest, the lack of weapons was the biggest problem at the moment. Aside from the lack of hygiene and poor logistics, not having a weapon to fight with was not something to take lightly. If the archers did not have bows and the pikemen did not have spears, then the army was doomed to fail the moment it set foot on the battlefield. Armor and shields was also a large issue, but weapons took priority. He could easily use alteration to make the spears and the bows, but it took time to craft them even with Magecraft. He'd have to optimize the process to make it as efficient as possible. Since he was living in the village and he most definitely preferred it over the crowded and disgusting state of the camp, having the soldiers practice their skills over by the village would not only save him the time needed to travel to the camp, but also give him more time to create weapons.

Aside from spears, he could also make bows and shields from his personal branch of Magecraft. Chainmail and plate armor was too complex to make considering their lack of time, but having a shield was better than nothing. He figured having a shield would increase the average soldier's lifespan on the battlefield by at least 50%. He had seen lots of shields on his time visiting the multitude of medieval museums, from the kite shield and the heater shield, to the Scutum and the Aspis. Making a metal shield would be too wasteful, considering the army was already facing a severe lack of iron and steel, but Blackbay was surrounded by forests. A single tree could give as much as fifteen wooden shields and with his reinforcement and basic alchemy they would be just as durable as a shield made out of steel. The only problem they had was time.

Time could be gained by having the soldiers cut the wood for him. Time could be gained by making spearheads and having the soldiers assemble the spears in his stead. Time could be gained by having the soldiers fish, build and train while he was busy making spears, bows and shields. Time was of the essence, and he needed to make the most out of it.

"I have no problem with it. I will tell the men to get ready tomorrow and have them assist you. You'll be in charge of the only company of archers so you better not disappoint me. Lives are counting on your success." Ludvig said, as he saw the blacksmith attach the spearhead to the shaft made from ash.

_`You don't need to tell me that!´_ Picking up another smaller piece of iron, he got to work. He didn't have the materials back at the village so he'd have to work here for today. Furthermore, he could analyze the different structures of the weapons the army possessed if he was in close proximity to them. He'd be able to see all the different swords and axes the medieval army used and come up with different ways to use them. He made yet another spearhead and handed it to the apprentice of the blacksmith, noting that the apprentice took half the time to attach the shaft to the iron point. Considering it took only a few seconds to make an iron tip with Magecraft, he'd have a large stock of spearpoints by the end of the day. Attaching them to the wooden shafts was not quite as hard as forging them, but it was a cumbersome task, one Magecraft did little to help with. Should he ask for an assistant to help him with the manufacturing of spears? No, a single assistant wouldn't really make much of a difference considering the difference in efficiency. If he wanted to make the process as streamlined as possible then he should have a large group of people who could help him. Attaching a spearhead took about a minute while making one took Shirou about five seconds. By that logic, he should have about twelve people assisting him in the task. Twelve people were a large group, too large to be contained in the small workshop the blacksmith had created…

A workshop! Why hadn't he thought about it earlier? If he could create a workshop then he could perform his magic in there without worries and have the forging of spears inside it. It would save him the time and he'd be able to investigate Wyrda at the same time. If he could only get a house for himself then he'd be able to set up a workshop in Blackbay and work from there while training the archer and making weapons at the same time. They had a blacksmith in Blackbay as well so he could talk to the man about the different arms as well.

Thinking of the things he could do with a workshop, he continued making spearheads, ignoring the jealous look the blacksmith and his apprentice was sending him.

**AOB**

Sinking into the warm water of the bathtub he had made using magecraft, he felt the stress of the day vanish as if washed away. He had spent the entire day making nothing but iron and steel spearheads, eventually succeeding in making over a thousand of them before his body began to fall asleep. He didn't know how long he had been working, but he could figure it out. The average spearhead took about five seconds to make and he had made over a thousand of them. Five-thousand seconds equaled about an hour and twenty minutes of using Magecraft. While not burning with pain, his circuits were rather sore from the battle with Scarface and he had not fully recovered. Once he had reached the thousand spearheads and his body was covered in sweat, he decided to sit down and attach the points to the shafts. Once he actually picked one of the spears up, he has disappointed in the quality of the wood. The shaft was heavy and uneven, making it prone to breaking in a soldier's hand than killing an enemy. The spear was obviously not fit for human use as it were so he had to use Magecraft once more to even the wood and make it lighter and sturdier. It was a tedious exercise, one he grew bored of after a mere five minutes. Using alteration to do the same thing over and over again was boring, especially since he only stopped to eat the meal the soldiers had given him.

Speaking of soldiers, he had gathered quite a crowd by the end of the day. Even though he was using the most basic of magecraft, one every magus worth their grain of salt had learnt as a child, the soldiers around him were commoners. As simple peasants and fishermen, they had most likely never even seen Magecraft before and watching a boy transform a long uneven stick into a smooth and unbreakable pole was more entertainment than they had hoped for, being forcefully drafted into the army to protect the land against invaders. It was most likely the only entertainment they had received in weeks, considering they had been stuck on the road for the last couple of weeks while marching to war. Having a magus on their side, regardless of how small he looked and how useless his magic (Magecraft) appeared, was probably a major boost in moral to the common people. A sign from above if the duke had let him join, that their cause was just and noble. It was made even more powerful since they were fighting for their homeland, the thought of their families and friends making them even more willing to risk their lives on the battlefield.

To be honest, Shirou didn't like it. If people assumed they were going to win simply because he was a magus and he was on their side then they would needlessly risk their lives and lose it in the process. Shirou wasn't a miracle worker, nor a saint sent to save them from the invading forces. If they put their hopes on him then they would be disappointed once they found out the truth, that Shirou simply wanted to go home. The reason he was helping them in the war was because he didn't want the people he had met to lose their home and lives. He simply wanted to help people, but if they misinterpreted it as divine intervention then the despair they'd feel once Shirou told them the truth would be beyond comparison. And Ludvig knew it would happen and he still allowed them to hope. The knight knew Shirou wasn't a real soldier nor a powerful magus, he had been told so when he had explained what had happened with the wargs. The man knew it and yet he continued to allow the men be impressed with his Magecraft and celebrate in hopes of having the battle end without a single causality on their side, simply because they had a wizard who had joined with their lord to protect them from harm. A wizard who would teach them how to fight and a wizard who would give them weapons to fight with and shields to protect themselves with. A wizard who, for all intents and purposes, would give them everything they needed to win the war.

How cruel was that? Ludvig would play with the people's hope and dreams, their very lives, simply because he wanted to gain the title of noblemen. Yes, the Saxons were going to invade either way, it was a part of their way of life to plunder the countryside of other nations. But to use the invasion to further his own goals at the expense of the common people, how heartless could he be?

Despite the thoughts running through his head, he knew he couldn't make any objections to what the man was doing simply because he was able to protect the people best this way. Ludvig would make a profit, but the village of Blackbay and the army stationed just outside its borders would have the highest chance of survival if they did what Ludvig said. Compared to what Shirou would have done, to bunker down and meet them head-on, Ludvig's way of doing things was smart and more efficient than what Shirou could come up with. Accepting help from Morgan, manipulating the soldier's hopes, training people to fight, intimidating the Saxons by attacking their borders were all good strategies to ensure the well-being of Britannia and its inhabitants. It didn't mean he had to like it however, in fact he hated it. Attacking people in order avoid being attacked, manipulating in order not to be manipulated and doing it all to further one's own agenda made him sick and angry. He wanted to punch the man, partially because what he was doing was wrong and partially because he had failed to live up to his own expectations of what knights were. Knights were honourable, selfless, brave and loyal, but Ludvig was none of those things. Granted, the man might be brave since he was willing to fight against a numerically superior army, but he wasn't what a knight should be.

Even so, how was he supposed to help a nation with its problems when he couldn't even fix his own? So far he had been able to discover three mysteries that he needed to research about; Wyrda and her hellhound, the unnatural increase in strength he had received, and the name Illya which had appeared in his thoughts from out of nowhere. In the week he's been here he hadn't been able to find a single moment to investigate whatever magic Wyrda used to bring him here. Maybe he'd be able to do it after the invasion, but he was afraid something else would pop up the moment it was over. It was a mixture of three factors he needed to investigate; Physical Location, Chronological Location and Spiritual Synchronicity. The three factors could be summed up in three questions as well; Why England? Why 487? Why him? He felt as if he was repeating himself by asking these questions, but he knew there was something about them that made them important. If he could discover the answer to one question then the others would be made obvious. In a way they were linked to each other and should one be affected then so would the others. Yet he couldn't for the life of him figure them out!

The increase in power was also strange, but welcome in a way. He would probably not have survived the battle with the wargs had he been any weaker than he had been at that point. Had Wyrda done something to him? Or was there something else he was missing? The entire mystery of it was frustrating to say the least, especially since he did not have any clues whatsoever to help him on the way. He was literally on his own when it came to this world, an eleven year old third rate magus with a tiny magic crest. The situation was almost depressing.

The final mystery was the most suspicious one. Who was Illya? Unlike the other two, this one didn't feel as impossible to solve, but it was therefore the most complex one. He knew who Illya was, but he had no idea who it was. He had heard the name several times, but he couldn't recall anything about the one who mentioned it or what they had meant. It was someone… important? He had a connection to them, one close enough for him to rescue them, but if that was the case then he should have realized who it was. It wasn't natural for him to be this forgetful. If he couldn't remember who it was then someone must have tinkered with his memories, but who could have done that? Wyrda was the prime suspect, but why stop only at a single person? Why not make him forget everything about Magecraft and her, effectively turning him into a medieval villager without a single desire to return home? Despite his desire to make the Fae into the perfect villain, his gut was telling him that wasn't the case. It was someone else, but he had no idea who could have manipulated his memory to this point.

The three mysteries, if he could solve them then maybe he could go home. Until then, surviving was his top priority. As he sank further into the bathtub and relaxed, the thought of returning home strengthened his resolve.

**AOB**

Shirou wasn't the most knowledgeable when it came to military terms. He knew some of the basic terms, such as ranks (Captain, General) and types of soldiers (Infantry, cavalry and artillery), but everything else was pretty much a big question mark to him. An army is an army, what else is there? What was the point in learning how many soldiers were in a battalion? Kiritsugu had fought alone almost his entire life, only the time spent with Natalia being the exception. Knowing the structure of a military organization was meaningless when everything he knew was suited to working alone and hiding in the shadows. When Ludvig had said he was sending a company of soldiers to come and build the defensive structures and repair the village, he had assumed that it meant somewhere about thirty-fifty people at the most. People were in the middle of training and sending away too many men to fish or build would be detriment to the defense of the people they were trying to protect.

So when a small army of 200 hundred men marched into the small village wielding tools and weapons, he was shocked at the quantity. Exactly how large a company was he had no idea, but he was going to find out. Ludvig had said he was going to teach a company how to use a bow, if a company being this big then he would have trouble teaching even half of them.

"Well, Ah guess it's time to start preparin' then. You goin' to be okay trainin' them by yourself?" Rowland asked him, already picking up various tools used for building houses. The man would be helping the village rebuild, a task which looked far less daunting than teaching people how to shoot a bow and arrow.

"I… I think so, or at least I hope I will. I still have to make the weapons they need so… Want to watch me make a fool of myself? It'll be entertaining if nothing else." He tried joking about it, as if the inevitable failure would be less disappointing if he prepared people for it.

The man chuckled, but shook his head. "Sorry lad, got to fix up me tavern. Old lady took a couple o' good hits durin' the attack and the sooner Ah fix it, the better. Ah'd wish you luck, but we know you don't need it. There's not a fool dumb enough to piss of a wizard, especially not one who can kill a monster like the wargs." He said, starting to leave. He had barely taken a step before Shirou stopped him.

"Hey Rowland, about yesterday, when Sir Ludvig said something about taking slaves, he was not serious right?" Shirou asked him. It had been on his mind the entire night, but he hadn't asked the tavern owner about it. It sounded almost too ridiculous to be true, for a country to be using slaves in this day and age.

But it wasn't his day and age anymore, it was the medieval era where knights and Saxons fought each other with spears and swords. He couldn't use his own standards on the rules and laws, doing so would only end in him getting into trouble. Not a pleasant thought considering this era's punishment for trouble was execution or amputation.

Were they really using slaves? A simple question, but one loaded with even more problems. a hero of justice would never turn his back on innocent people, regardless of they had been on the enemy's side. The innocent farmers and fishermen the army would have kidnapped and sold into slavery had done nothing wrong except being Saxons. If Ludvig attacked them then he'd be the same as the Saxons who attacked Britannia.

"What do you mean?" Rowland answered confused. Had the question really been that hard to understand?

"I mean, he's not going to take people prisoners and sell them into slavery, right? He's a knight, not a slaver!" Shirou asked once more, his desperation leaking into his voice. Rowland sighed at his face and scratched his bald head.

"Even if you ask me that, Ah don't know what to say. Listen boy, Ah know it's hard to understand, but it's important you try. The Saxons have been attackin' our coasts for years, takin' prisoners and plunderin' our villages. The invasion fifteen years ago was only the last invasion, not the last attack. What do you think they do with the prisoners?" He asked, staring into Shirou's eyes with unwavering determination.

"I, don't know. Hold them for ransom?" He answered, unsure what the answer really was.

"They might do that if they capture a noblemen or their heir. They might even do that if they capture a large part of the population, but most of the time they simply sell 'em as slaves. It's a quick way to earn a bit o' gold and the soldiers need to be paid. How do you think some of the mercenaries in the army get paid? Sure they can take whatever they find on the battlefield, but a lot of 'em take prisoners and sell 'em as slaves. There's nothin' wrong with that, at least according to the duke." He said, a fierce scowl on his face.

"But you don't own any slaves… right?" Shirou asked, hesitating to know the truth. If Blackbay did have slaves and he hadn't noticed, how was he going to live with himself? He'd be a failure as a hero, and as Kiritsugu's son.

"Nah, we don't. We lost too many family members to slavers to own a slave ourselves, too much o' a painful reminder. If you had lost a son or daughter to slavers and you owned slave at the same time then you'd keep thinkin' about 'em every time you told the 'em to do somethin'. The only one who owns slaves in Blackbay is Charles, and the bastard lives too close inland to have suffered somethin' like that." He explained and Shirou let out a breath of relief. That explained why he hadn't known slavery was legal, there was no reason for him to know about it. A weight he hadn't even known about was lifted from his shoulders, removing some of the tension in his body.

"Ah know it's tough lad, but trust me when Ah say this: it's for the best. It's just the way it is, war will always have an ugly effect on people aside from the death and destruction it creates." Rowland finished looking down sadly. Perhaps he had lost someone to slavery too, a long time ago? "Anyway, we need to get started, the village isn't goin' to build itself!" he said, energy returning to the man's eyes as he wandered off with the tools in his hands.

As he walked away, Shirou felt a twinge of regret in his chest. Would he be responsible for the enslavement of innocent people in this war? Even if he didn't actively take people, simply fighting alongside them would result in people being sold as slaves. On the other hand, if he didn't fight them then the people of Britannia would be killed or enslaved. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, with enslavement on both sides as a result. What kind of scenario was this?

"To save one person means not being able to save another, huh? Is this how you felt, dad?" he asked, no one in particular, but his father should have understood what he was asking. The man had fought by that creed for decades, never wavering in face of destruction. Still, he had to do something...

He was brought out of his thoughts as several men approached him, some wearing leather armour while other wore coarse woolen sweaters and trousers. Almost all of them carried a bow of some kind, though few looked like they were made for war. Most of them were rather old, and after a quick analysis he discovered that most of them were close to their expiration dates. Rotting wood made for poor bows.

"Can I help you?" He asked, despite knowing their purpose in coming here. It was rude to assume things though and he didn't want to make an ass out of himself in case he actually was wrong.

"Yes, we are the company of archers sent to train under you, Sir. It is an honor to meet you in person, seeing as just yesterday we witnessed you using your magic to make weapons for us." The leader spoke, the man wielding the newest and by far the strongest bow. He wore leather armor under a woolen tunic and a quiver full of arrows. He looked richer than the rest of the group of fifty or so, since his boots and clothes were relatively new and expensive. Compared to Ludvig though he looked like an average villager, most likely because the archers weren't as famous or glamorous and the knights were.

"I see, then I suppose we should get moving then. Did you bring the equipment I asked Sir Ludvig for?" The equipment in question was simply wooden branches thick enough to craft bows from. From what Ludvig had said, the current bowmen did not possess enough bows to arm themselves and had sent a request to collect whatever bows the kingdom had in reserve. Old and damaged bows had been collected from families that did not have use for them anymore, bows not meant to see the battlefield even from hundreds of meters away. Letting the archers use the rotting and almost broken bows would result in the defeat of the archery company even before the battle began.

"Of course sir, but what is the purpose of the `equipment´ in question? They are too small to be used for practice, for us I mean. I'm sure you could use your magic to strike them down, but for us mortal men, a small stick is too small." The man stuttered, as if Shirou would attack him for speaking disrespectfully.

The man really needed to relax, it wasn't like he was that dangerous. He wasn't enough of a monster to attack people simply because they asked him a question. There might be magi in the Clock Tower that would, but he wasn't raised in the Clock Tower. Although, if he had been raised hearing tales of Morgan then he would be on his guard as well.

"I'm going to make bows for you to use. The bows you're using right now look like they'll break the moment you use them. Have there been any accidents during your training so far?" he asked the man, noting the surprise on the man's face. He was right it seemed, the bows really weren't suited for activity anymore.

"Actually there was an incident just two days ago. A man tried to fire an arrow, but the bow broke in his hands. He'll be sent home for a crippled hand, but there isn't anything else we can do. Will you be using you magic for this as well?" The man asked excited. There was a small excited spark in his eyes, an eagerness to view even more of the magic he had seen the day before.

"Yeah, since I can't let you use the bows in the shape they're in. You wouldn't even make it into the battlefield." Shirou confirmed and the small crowd started whispering. He couldn't make out what they were saying without reinforcing his hearing, but he wasn't going to waste the prana necessary for it.

Setting up the archery range wasn't too much trouble. It couldn't really be considered as an archery range though, since it was just a bunch of hay bales stacked together. He had chosen to put it up near the forest to avoid the wind which would undoubtedly be present closer to the village. Teaching archery in the wind wasn't a good way to begin. Taking the wind into consideration was something an archer learned once he had the basics down, adding it in the beginning would simply confuse the amateur.

Once the fifty plus archers began to arrange the small clearing into a straight lane, Shirou picked up the first branch. A branch taken from a yew tree, quite an old one at that. With a quick application of alteration and alchemy, the branch quickly turned into a bow. The bow appeared similar to his own Fae bow, but the performance was nowhere close to the mystic code he had crafted years ago. The black bow didn't require reinforcement to pull back and the range wasn't anywhere near the Fae bow's immense reach. It was still a powerful bow, one with a range over five hundred meters. It was slightly stronger than the longbows of this era and would require a bit of strength when using, but it would outperform anything they had been using before.

He put the counterfeit bow on the ground, making sure it wasn't mixed in with the failing bows the army currently used. As he picked up another branch and turned it into a bow, he began his lecture on archery. He had decided to begin with a small speech telling them about the use, limitations and capabilities of the longbow, considering he had spent months learning about them when he had started learning. Since he was teaching them how to use the English longbow, the people who used a different bow would have to learn from scratch. Out of the fifty archers in front of him, only twenty used the longbow he had learnt how to use. The rest either used a shorter bow or didn't have a bow at all.

"The longbow I'm giving you is stronger than the average bow you're used to. Compared to the range you have now, the range this bow has is closer to five-hundred meters. This is good since you will be able to fire arrows at the enemy while they're further away, but the strength needed to pull the string back will be that much greater." He said and the archers came closer, trying to absorb everything he said. After seeing him turn a normal branch into what they assumed was a magical bow, hearing what he said about the bow was probably more important than eating for them right now. Hearing tales of cursed weapons which killed their owners was not uncommon, especially in this age.

The lecture continued for about thirty minutes, though he couldn't tell for sure. Making a bow was slightly harder than a spearhead so it took about ten seconds to turn a branch into a bow and he made about 200 bows. Ludvig had mentioned that he wanted at least 200 archers so he made enough bows in case more would show. In his own time, such a feat would have made him rather tired, given the slight complexity of the average bow, but in this era it wasn't that hard. In his own time he was able to trace hundreds of simple, nameless swords with his crest if the swords were young and without any significant history, but even that would make him tired. In this time however, the mysterious boost in power made it easy to reinforce the bows to surpass the standard bow, even without carving runes onto them. He wouldn't have dreamed of doing this kind of Magecraft under normal circumstances, the runes were merely the icing on the cake. Nothing as powerful as fire or wind-enhancing runes, simply strengthening runes to give the arrow a bit more kick when the string was released. The bow would have an easier time being drawn, but when the string didn't have contact with human skin, the bowstave would stiffen immensely. He had asked Kiritsugu for help with that rune array, but the result had been worth it. Even if he felt a little disappointed he hadn't been able to do it himself, the fact that the arrow had been able to pierce a tree completely had made up for it.

"Now that you know what the longbow is, do you have any questions before we begin practicing?" He said as finished explaining what the bow was capable of. He had expected someone to interrupt him or question him because he was a child, but none of them had done such a thing. They had been quiet as mice during the entire lesson. It was only when he asked them a question that they spoke.

"I have one, if I may?" The leader of the group said. Shirou nodded and the man continued.

"I am Hadrian from the village of Shamblefields, a neighboring village to Blackbay. We have not yet been told of your name, so I was wondering if you could introduce yourself to us. Commander Ludvig only told us to look for the young wizard with red hair and dark skin, but he never told us your name." He explained. Shirou stopped, surprised that the first question wasn't about archery, but about himself. That wasn't expected, least of all that it was about his name.

"It's Shirou Emiya." He introduced himself, unbalanced by the question. He didn't think they wouldn't know what his name was, but it wasn't that illogical. He had only introduced himself once to Ludvig and the man had said his name was hard to remember. It wouldn't surprise him if Ludvig had forgotten what it was and simply told them to look for his description.

Well, actually it had surprised him, but the concept was the same.

"Shall we get back to training then? It'll be tough to learn how to use a longbow, but it's important you get the basics down. Muscles and experience will follow naturally." He walked over to the archery range and showed the correct stance. His Fae bow (When was he going to give it a name?) was disproportionally large compared to his body, but his generous use of reinforcement made it possible for him to fire an arrow.

He had learned the traditional way to using a Japanese bow, but as he started practicing with his english longbow he started creating his own style, a hybridized version that mixed the steps of the Japanese bow and the more battle-oriented version his father had forced him to create. According to Kiritsugu, the traditional steps of Japanese archery weren't applicable in a modern battle where gunfire and Magecraft would be threatening his life several times each second. Materializing the bow, firing the arrow and astralizing the bow again, these three steps were the keys in surviving a hostile encounter, not the eight steps in traditional Japanese archery. To him, the values of Zen meditation and tradition had no place on the battlefield and would only get him killed if he didn't get rid of them as soon as possible. They might be important while he was practicing club at school, but if he tried to do it while he was facing an enemy magus then he'd be better off not learning how to fight to begin with.

As a result, Shirou's version couldn't be called a formal style. It possessed a stance when he had time to aim, yes, but he wasn't limited to fighting on even ground. He could shoot an arrow regardless of how bad his footing was, as long as he had a clear view of what was happening. He was theoretically able to fire an arrow in mid-air, but he had never tried to do so outside of the time he had practiced at home or at the local swimming pool at night. His accuracy had decreased immensely as a result of the distracting fall, but he had been able to hit the target six times out of ten, even though it wasn't anywhere near the bull's-eye.

And now he had to teach a group of fifty how to fire a bow when even he was still not used to his own style. Great, anything else he needed to know? Maybe he had to learn how to ride a horse and shoot a bow at the same time? Multitasking was always so much fun.

He spent the next few hours demonstrating how to hold the bow and aim, occasionally correcting a person's stance or technique. Most of them had experience using some kind of bow, but the longbow he had given them was not the original longbow used during the medieval ages. The bow he had created using alteration was not only stronger, but it was also larger than their own longbows. While some had enough experience or skill to bleed over onto the new fae counterfeit bow, the ones who used shortbows or no bows at all needed more help than others. He spent almost an hour telling a man he needed to hold the bow higher before he got the message and managed to hit the target at a distance of thirty meters. The difference in experience and skill amongst the archers was actually shocking. Some, like Hadrian of Shamblefields, were able to use the new bow relatively quickly, hitting the target at sixty meters within the hour of practice. Others looked like they would take all day to replicate the feat.

Maybe it was the result bringing men from all over the country and making them fight together at a moment's notice? Men who were from the same area were close to each other in terms of skill, those who called themselves hunters were exceptionally skilled with the new bows. While none of the archers aside from Hadrian managed to hit a target over a hundred meters away, more than half of them had managed over eighty-five meters. Only a single person was still at fifty meters by the end of the day and the man was obviously used to shorter bows since the man had brought his own bow, one which had been used quite extensively.

All in all, they wouldn't be masters, but they would be able to hit their mark when necessary. At least if they could draw the bowstring as far as needed, a task made even more difficult considering the severe lack of muscles on the archers. Most of them were simply not strong enough to draw the string back far enough to take advantage of the maximum range the new bows gave them. If they didn't start training their bodies to match the bows then they would have to stand unnecessarily close to the battlefield to be of any use. The closer they were to the battlefield the higher the risks of being attacked by the enemy. There were tactics one could employ to discourage this action, such as Archer's stakes where the archer would plant a sharp stake in front of him which would impale any cavalry or impatient infantry, but the best way was to simply increase the distance between them and the actual battle.

"Sir Emiya?" Hadrian said, catching his attention.

"What is it?" The way he spoke so respectfully to a child half his age was weird, especially when he used his last name and added `Sir´ at the end.

"I believe it is time for us to retire back to the camp. The sun is about to set and the men are tired, do we have permission to leave?" The man asked, showing signs of fatigue himself.

Was it really that late? Now that he mentioned it, the sun was no longer at its apex, but hovering dangerously close to the horizon. Instead of being covered in a bright light, the sky was instead colored a dark orange. He had lost his sense of time instructing the archers on how to use the bows, only thinking about what they did wrong and how to correct it.

"O- of course, you do! I'm sorry I lost track of time, it won't happen again." He felt embarrassed and ashamed. The soldiers had been here the entire day, training nonstop. He hadn't even thought about food, the men must be both exhausted and starving by now, it was amazing they hadn't said anything. "It was my fault you missed your lunch, I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright, the weapons and tutelage you have given us was worth more than a week's supply of food. With this, our chances of surviving the war have increased more than you could ever imagine. Not only did you take down the beasts that roamed the forests for years without our knowledge, but you also deemed it fit to give us weapons to fight the enemy with. What use do we have of a single day's meals when we were given this opportunity? Truly, it must have been an act of God for you to arrive before the invasion began." Hadrian said, bowing deeply. The men around him followed suit and soon all fifty archers were bowing in a sign of respect.

He wanted to tell them he wasn't that great and he was simply there to help them for the battle, but the irony of what Hadrian had said was not lost on him. Wyrda had been a god once so it wasn't that far of a stretch to call it an act of god, just not one with the capital G.

"You don't have to do that, please raise your head. I'm not that great." _`If I was then I wouldn't be so conflicted about the innocent people Ludvig's about to enslave. If I really was that great then I'd be able to do something about it.´_

"As you wish, Sir Emiya. Before I leave, I simply want to tell you it has been a pleasure to have trained under you today. I hope I will have the chance to do so once more before the battle." He said, raising his head from the bow.

Shirou smiled, appreciating the man's kind earnest. "Of course you will, I'll be training the archers every day from until the battle. I'll see you tomorrow again."

"Unfortunately, I won't be in the group you'll be training tomorrow. The Commander decided to break the company into several parts in order to make sure the training is as effective as possible. Tomorrow you'll be training another group, one I won't be a part of. The soonest I'll be able to train under you once more is in five days, if I'm not forced to work that day." Hadrian said, remorse apparent on his face.

He had not been privy of that particular piece of information. How large was the company of archers exactly? Was it the 200 as Ludvig had hoped for? If that was the case then he'd be teaching people from scratch several times in a row for at least four more days. The thought of doing the exact same thing over and over until the day of battle sapped all his energy and he felt his body ache from exhaustion. Oh well, he had signed up for it, now was not the time to be complaining.

"I see, then I suppose I'll see you around some day. Can you do me a favour and take the bows back to the camp? Make sure to give one to every archer and tell them to get used to the strength of it, it'll help if they start exercising as soon as they can. They'll need the strength to use the bow effectively." He asked the young man, though it wasn't like he could call anyone young, not when he was even younger.

"Do not worry, I'll make sure to give them your instructions." With those last words, the two parted ways and Shirou headed back to the village. The entire day had been exhausting, from teaching to reinforcing bows. If tomorrow turned out the same then he wasn't sure what to do. At least he wouldn't have to make any more bows, that had been the most tiresome thing physically. He wasn't used to standing in front of so many people either, he was more of a lone wolf when it came down to it. Kiritsugu was more effective when he was hiding in the shadows, maybe he had emulated a bit too much about his father's behavior?

Nah, Kiritsugu was awesome. Emulating him too much was impossible.

He didn't bother taking a bath, he simply wanted to sleep. Shrugging of his school uniform, he cursed when he accidentally ripped even more fabric. He really needed to find something new to wear, he'd be wearing nothing but rags pretty soon.

As he laid his head down on the pillow, it didn't even take a minute before he was dreaming.

Dreaming about swords…

…And a woman with silver hair and red eyes.


	9. A Gift Horse In The Mouth

_Once more I find myself writing for AoB and this time I made sure it had content. You have no idea the research I did for this chapter, about the characters from Arthurian legend to the countries and backgrounds. I used a notebook to take notes of the different things I found and by the time I was done I had over ten pages of A4 paper just covered in ink. And that was just the plot! I had to research a lot about horses and their medieval counterparts to make sure I was correct when I wrote them._

_Unfortunately I can't be too reliant on the Arthurian legends, not when Fate/Stay Night completely contradicts it (King Arthur as a women being the prime example). In the wiki it's written that the meals she ate were comprised of mostly meat, vegetables potatoes and vinegar. Most of that might be correct, but potatoes did not exist in Europe at the time, being an American import centuries later. So the nasuverse is anachronistic to begin with, but that's not what I'm going to talk about. This is what I want to talk about: _

_My anachronism._

_Yeah, I know a lot of the terms in my story are not suitable for the time period, but I have to do something in order to make things work and this is what I did. First of all, I decided to include potatoes in the story since it was mentioned on Type-moon wiki. So sue me! Spank me! My body is ready!_

_Second: Stirrups. Being an asian invention it took some time for the stirrups to arrive in Britannia. But I figured the Europeans had made some sort of progress on that front after hearing rumors of the tack the asians were using. Hence the rope-stirrup. Not quite a stirrup, but something similar. Give them a century and they'll be using proper stirrups, but with Shirou there it'll probably take less than a year. Hurray!_

_Third: Military ranks. I had no idea what kind of ranks they had in the early middle ages after the romans retreated. According to the wiki they had something called Commander-in-chief which was actually a constable at later periods, but I figured a knight or noble would be the Commander right at the beginning of the middle ages. So I decided to make up a simple chain of command for them to use. That is:_

_Commander (Commander of the cavalry and the army as a whole)_

_Field Marshal (In charge of logistics and management)_

_Captain (In charge of a single company) _

_Second-in-command (A captain's aid and replacement in case of the captain's death)_

_I know these are not the actual ranks in the medieval army, but they are the closest I could come without writing up an entire essay of them. I'd prefer to keep it as simple as possible in order not to confuse everyone who's reading this story. _

_Fourth: Countries. This is where the history begins…or not. I spent God knows how many hours just reading about the different characters in the Arthurian legends and all the different places they visited and I was as clueless when I finished as when I started. So I sat down and I decided to limit myself to five countries. Anymore and I would lose myself in the different facts I would have to fact-check. The result: Britannia, Albion, Cornwall, Rheged and Ritho. Each one of these already have a lot of backstory about them and their rulers. Some you might recognize, some you might not. Rest assured, we'll be covering every one of them. _

_And hey, this is the first time you have some geography to link everything to. I have put up a map of everything on my deviantart which you can find on my profile through a link._

_Fifth: Horsies! Oh my fudgin' god! I spent… I don't know how many hours reading about horses to make sure most of what I wrote was correct. I found myself reading about cattle and New South Walers at 5 AM! Hopefully you might be able to enjoy the fruits of my labor since it took its fair share of sleepless nights to write. _

_5 AM!_

_What have I become?_

_On a positive note, I now know how to make a very, very shitty saddle tree. At least some good came out of it._

_As always, please review. Your reviews make it all worth it!_

* * *

Warfare was not what Shirou had imagined.

At least not medieval warfare. He had thought he'd be rushing into the heat of battle, swords swinging and blood running, dodging each sword or spear thrust at him. He'd feel the pain of arrows piercing his flesh and the blades skewering him to the ground. He'd have to use Magecraft to break loose and survive by the smallest of margins, barely pulling himself from the frontlines to recuperate elsewhere.

That's what he had been expecting, not… this!

"What's our situation in terms of supplies?" Ludvig asked the knight next to him. The tall knight glanced down at a piece of parchment in his hands before he answered in a serious tone.

"We received a fresh load of supplies yesterday, consisting of potatoes, wheat and vegetables. The villages nearby have also been able to gather different crops under promises of payment. The biggest problem is meat and disease. We can't slaughter too much of the local cattle without paying for it and the lords have refused to donate enough gold to pay for the food. Fish is good enough for a while, but an army without real meat is not a happy one." The knight, sir Edmund or Field Marshall as the knights called him, said with a grim expression. Ludvig sighed, a frown on his face.

"Tell the lords that they will pay in either gold or in blood, the choice is theirs. If I tell the duke of their incompetence then heads will roll and whether or not their heads will be among them us up to the noble lords. Until then you can tell the men to go into the woods and hunt what they can. What about the lords who did provide food, how many are there?" Ludvig addressed the knight.

"So far a dozen from all over the land, but there have been complications over the delivery. Some of the wagons and shipments seemed to have disappeared en route without any explanation whatsoever." The younger knight said to his superior, his face darkening in the process.

"That's troubling news. Are you sure the lords are simply not recalling the goods and blaming it on someone else?" the Commander questioned. The knight shook his head.

"I'm positive sir. Among the lords whose deliveries have gone missing are my father and uncle, men who have fought as knights when they were younger. Their honor would not allow them to commit such treacherous act, especially not when my brothers and cousins are fighting on the frontlines." The knight answered, straightening his back in pride.

"Troubling indeed. Very well, give Sir William orders to investigate the disappearances. He is allowed to take fifty men with him if needed, but I want those shipments found and returned." He turned towards Shirou and barked out his name. "Emiya?

"Yes?" he answered, unsure of what to say.

"The beasts you took down, wargs was it? Are they edible?" the Commander asked.

"Well yeah, but the meat isn't exactly tasty without the spices and herb to cook it with. Kind of like mutton, but tougher and dry." He had tried to figure out what to do with the carcass of the wargs and eating had been one of those uses. While the meat was nutritious and the average warg possessed an abundance of it due to the muscled build, the meat was tough and dry and wasn't meant to be eaten for the taste. Even when drenched in spices and herbs it wasn't very palatable. It did wonders to recover prana though, as the meat was practically, and literaly, made from the stuff.

"Doesn't matter, after a few weeks o' eatin' nothin' but fish and potatoes the sight o' meat will be the best spice in the world. They'll be happy to eat it." Rowland said next to him. The old bartender had been asked to join the war council, partly to make Blackbay's voice heard and partly to make sure the village knew what to do. With an army of almost four thousand soldiers next door, Blackbay had suddenly found itself as the primary food supply just as they had found themselves free from the wargs. With only three ships, catching enough fish for the southern army was proving to be as much of a challenge as the upcoming invasion was sure to be.

"I'll take your word for it. Edmund, what of the armaments?" Ludvig continued and the younger knight immediately began to inform his superior of the lack of said armaments.

This had been the pattern for almost two weeks. He would wake up, eat breakfast and go to the archery range. He would then spend the next few hours training with the archers, showing them the proper stance (as if he had one), correcting whatever flaws they had and then repeating the same until the bell rung. He would then eat before he went to the blacksmith to 'forge' whatever weapon or shield they required as well as to inspect the already existing ones. His mix of alchemy and reinforcement made sure the shape of the weapons remained, but his skill wasn't exactly what he would have liked it to be. If he had to spend a few minutes inspecting the weapons he had made the day earlier if it meant the survival of the soldier wielding it then he would spend those few minutes with pride. As he finished the afternoon-shift, he would head for the war room to hear what the knights and Commander had to say. The topics were more or less the same.

"_The food is not enough!"_

"_The armor is not good enough!"_

"_The soldiers are not good enough!"_

"_The women aren't easy enough!" _

Every single meeting commenced with some kind of variation of these topics being brought up and then the Commander would explain why it was that and what they would do to change it. The knights would quieten down before the real issue of each meeting would be addressed. Today had been no exception, even though the whining had been stopped rather quickly and the knights had focused their attention on the more pressing concerns without the Commander resorting to corporal punishment to shut them up.

This had not been what he had expected when he had signed up for the army. He had no desire to fight or kill in the name of war, but the waiting and the preparing was almost too much to bear. He'd figured the Saxons would arrive, they would fight and then leave once they had lost, but he hadn't even seen a sign of the Saxons even after two weeks. The pressure was killing him! If he had to fight, then he would much rather have it over and done with as soon as possible, like a band-aid. Quick and less painful than the alternative.

On the other hand, he knew it was impossible. The army was still organizing and troops were still arriving to the camp. If they were to fight in their current condition then the results would be gruesome beyond imagining. The fact of the matter was that they were outnumbered and outgunned. Even with his alchemy-powered weapons and shields, the army was sadly far from properly outfitted. Just because a man held a shield and a spear didn't mean he was ready for war. A proper soldier should wear chainmail or plate armor, but the peasants that the southern army had drafted were too poor to own such luxuries. The Saxons meanwhile had prepared for the invasion for years and had most likely made sure their men possessed armour and weapons.

As much as he hated to admit it, every day the invasion failed to begin was a day which increased their chances of survival. The problem with that though…

Was what would happen after they won the battle.

The counter-attack.

Sir Ludvig had revealed his plan to raid the Saxons shores just a few days ago and the support behind the plan was overwhelming. Some had experienced the saxon's brutality firsthand and wanted revenge while some merely desired the riches the conquest would give them. Shirou's objections and pleas had fallen on deaf ears, whether it was because he was a child or because he was an outsider he did not know, but he had lost his motivation for participating in the war after that meeting.

He wanted to save people, not condemn them to a life of slavery. Oh, he was so sorry, he meant_ forced servitude_. As if it made any difference, if they changed the words for it. Slavery was slavery, a cruel and barbarous act. Even if he was in the fifth century of Europe, weren't their laws against this kind of things? To turn prisoners of war into slaves was… disgusting! Beyond ignorant and despicable, it was downright evil. Had they no sense of decency?

He had wanted to stop what he was doing and leave the army, but what would that accomplish? If he did then the chances was that it would be the villagers of Blackbay who would be enslaved or killed. After having gotten to know them he knew he couldn't do that, not after he had saved them from the wargs. If he left then Blackbay was doomed as well as the rest of the villages in Britannia, but if he fought then the counterattack would unleash just as much suffering on the Saxons.

In a way, the best scenario was letting the southern army attack the Saxons. The Saxons were the aggressors, the invaders who attacked first and took prisoners. They were the villains, the evil murderers. Counterattacking was to ensure they would spend their time rebuilding their villages and ships before they had a chance to reorganize their armies.

But the people who would be attacked were the farmers and fishermen who lived on the shores, not the soldiers or warlords who attacked Britannia in the first place. Taking out their hatred and vengeance on the people who had no choice but to obey their leaders was not the way of a hero of justice. How was he supposed to justify the enslavement of innocent women and children, when their husbands and father had most likely been killed in battle?

He had tried to make the knights listen to him, but he had not succeeded even once. Many of them bore scars from earlier battles with their neighbors over the sea and were more than happy to pay them back for all the ransacked villages they had to defend. Trying to tell them not to enslave the innocent people over the waters was an exercise in futility, despite his various attempts. The knights who only sought gold were even harder since they didn't even give him time to explain. One had even pushed him away until he fell down on the ground.

Even so, he had not given up on finding a way to save everyone. He'd never be able to face his dad in the afterlife if he gave up the first sign of trouble.

Nevertheless, it had been an exhausting two weeks for him, from morning to evening. From his training and 'forging' to the bloodthirsty and greedy knights in command of the army, everything he did felt like an uphill struggle. Hopefully everything would end soon.

"Sir." A young knight said, his armor polished and decorative. He looked like he had no place among the rabble that were his men outside. "I've been listening to the plan and I agree with what you have said so far, but there is one thing I'm hesitant on." The blond knight said, his hair combed and wavy. He looked much too fancy to belong on a battlefield and Shirou was sure he smelled roses when the knight pointed at him.

Wait, pointed at him?

"Is there something wrong with Sir Emiya, Sir Vortimer?" Ludvig asked, his voice cold.

'Sir Emiya', that had been a thing as well. Since he had been assigned as the instructor and impromptu 'Captain' of the archers (or most of them at least, Ludvig had set aside a company to be trained independantly. It seemed as if he did not trust Shirou's skill as a teacher), it appeared he needed the proper station for it. An orphan without status could not be allowed to train the archers, never mind be in charge of them during a battle. Even if archers were usually commoners themselves, commanding a company of archers was a position of decent prestige. Since Ludvig was a clever man, at least according to Rowland, he had seen the success Shirou had accomplished with the men under his instruction and had assigned him as their leader. Being a leader required some sort of title or rank and he had been given the honorary title of knight-apprentice. Not a true knight, but not a commoner either. Ludvig did not have the authority to declare him a true knight, but as the Commander of the Southern Army under 'His Grace, Duke Vortigern' he did have the authority to elevate people to knight-apprentices. The title 'Sir' came with the territory.

Needless to say it was all a bunch of nonsense. Knight-apprentices were actually called squires and did not possess the title of 'Sir' and they were usually nothing more than servants to real knights. The only reason he was 'promoted' to knights-apprentice was because he needed some kind of actual title even if it didn't mean anything.

For all their savage ways with slavery and revenge, they sure liked to maintain an illusion of nobility.

Now what was this about him that the knight didn't like?

"There's nothing wrong about him, but I'm confused as to why he's assigned to the archers. As a wizard and somewhat capable swordsmen, should he not be assigned to the cavalry instead? My squad is lacking in swordsmen who can take care of themselves, but if a wizard is amongst them then I can rest assured my forces can stand on the frontlines." He spoke swiftly, not deterred by the Commander's tone. Sir Ludvig's eyes narrowed in… hesitation? Suspicion?

Wait, what was this about him being assigned to the cavalry? He didn't even know how to ride a horse, much less fight on horseback! Everything he knew about fighting was on solid ground or far away with a bow. Why did he want him as a part of the cavalry?

"Sir Emiya has spent the last few weeks training the archers from scratch. They work best with him as their Captain since he knows the most about the bows they're using and the techniques he has taught them. Removing him from the archery company would lower morale and efficiency." Ludvig explained patiently, but the frown on his face contradicted his words. Sir Vortimer ignored the Commander and continued nonetheless.

"Yes yes, we've all read _De re militari._ We know the benefits of having a trustworthy Commander and the disadvantages of not having one, but you've assigned him to the _archers_. Out of all the companies on the battlefields, he's assigned to the one where having a Captain makes the smallest of differences. Anyone can learn what a banner or signal means as long as they have at least an eye and an ear left. Don't you think it's wasteful, leaving our only wizard with the archers while the cavalry fights on the frontlines?" The man asked and for a moment, Shirou couldn't help but to agree. It made a little sense, for a magus to stay behind while… he snapped out of it, shaking his head to clear his mind. What was he thinking? He was getting caught up in the knight's pace, he couldn't afford to do that.

"What are you getting at, Vortimer? Speak clearly." Ludvig spoke with a hint of danger in his voice.

"What I mean is, assign Sir Emiya to my cavalry and assign me to the frontlines. With a wizard at my side and the Southern Lions behind me, we'll smash through the saxon lines like sword through flesh! Wouldn't that be a tale for the bards?" A round of laughter rolled through the crowd around them and Shirou felt his cheeks heat up. What was he talking about?

"As much as it pains me to wake you from your daydreams Lion Knight, I must reject your request. If you were awake and thinking clearly then you'd realize that the wizard you spoke so highly off is a child barely older than fourteen and he has no experience riding a horse either. I doubt your 'Southern Lions' would be happy to babysit a magician on the battlefield if you're on the frontlines." The laughter continued and even Sir Vortimer cracked a smile at the barb.

"Alas you are right, I fear my excitement may have gotten the best of me. I apologize and hope you will forgive me for my precociousness, Commander." He said with a bow. The display was as apologetic as it was theatrical and not for the first time did Shirou find himself impressed by the age's inhabitants. Where the hell were these people in his day and age?

"Just try not to make it a habit to mistake precociousness with naivety and you'll be fine, Sir Vortimer. Now as I was saying, the reason sir Emiya is assigned to the archers is because he is the person most suited for the job. He has experience with a bow and he is familiar with the soldiers of the company. His value as a wizard is second to his value as a Commander and his ability to fight on the frontlines is… well, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it's abysmal. No armor, no horse and no experience riding a horse either is overshadowed by the fact that he is still a child. He'd get himself killed before he has a chance to kill a single saxon. I'd rather put him to better use as an archer than a foot soldier." The aging Commander spoke with finality and Shirou felt gratitude for the man, even though he fought for the wrong reasons. "But you do make a fine point.

Eh…?

"A Commander or captain is expected to ride amongst his men and issue orders during the battle. Since you have no horse or skill in riding one to speak of, we must do something about that." Once more, the laughing commenced. Only this time he was sure they were laughing at him.

Oh hell no!

**AOB**

"Um Rowland, what is _that_?"

"You like him, lad? Snatched him from the baron's stables last night, right in front o' the old bastard. Best thing about it? The cunt couldn't do a single thing to stop me! Ah almost laughed me arse off before Ah could leave." Rowland said with a grin so wide it threatened to split his face in half. Geoffrey showed a small smile as well, though it was smaller and more controlled. The fisherman was holding a saddle in his arms, something he didn't look too happy about it seemed considering he was bother smaller and weaker than the old bartender.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this." Shirou said weakly as he took a hesitant step backwards.

"Nah, don't worry about it. Charles was meant to supply soldiers and armor, but so far he has only fulfilled one o' them. Ludvig told me to get a horse from one o' the stables and to tell the baron that it was a horse or his head, considering he failed to report the wargs properly. The old bastard didn't even let me finish before he told me to get a horse and get out!" He let out a boisterous laugh as he wiped a tear from his eyes. Shirou thought he was finding the situation a bit too funny.

"Right… And why did you choose this horse in particular?" Shirou asked as he pointed at the large animal in front of him.

A day had passed since the war council and Ludvig had told him he needed to learn how to ride a horse and they were in the village's stables, a separate stable from the baron's estate. The ground was covered with straw and the air smelled of horse and dung. All around him were different horses of size, color and gender, each one more intimidating than the other, but none could match the monstrosity in front of him.

It was a huge dark brown stallion, muscled and heavy. The fur was sleek and almost a reddhish brown, with the only exception being the small patch of white fur which ran from it forehead to its nose. The mane and tail were long and soft, a testament to its owner's care. Compared to the horses he had seen in the village, it was the epitome of fierceness and nobility. There was not a single spot on the horse which looked like it had spent any time whatsoever tending to the fields or pulling a wagon. It was a truly impressive piece of work.

It also looked like it could trample Shirou to death simply by walking past him.

"Well, since you so tiny and all that," he said, ignoring the twitch in Shirou's eye at being called 'tiny', "Ah thought maybe Ah should get you a pony or a young mare to start off with. They're easy to ride and they're very calm too. Not much that can go wrong with a pony."

"I like ponies! Ponies are great, can we get a pony instead?" He said hastily, the thought of riding the behemoth in front of him scaring him even more than facing Scarface in close-combat.

"But then Ah thought; `Hey, Charles been bleedin' the village dry for decades in order to buy these horses and now that we have a chance to benefit from it we should make the most o' it.´ So Ah looked around there he was, like a gift from the gods! Ah thought he must be the most expensive horse in the stables, considering it was the only destrier among them. Think about it, barely fourteen years old and you now own your very own warhorse, not bad for a dwarf like yourself." The old bartender said while slapping his hand on Shirou's back. The impact stung enough to make his eyes water, but he had more pressing concerns.

Rowland might find it hilarious that the baron had lost a prized horse and Shirou had gained one, but the entire point was so he could learn how to ride a horse on the battlefield. He could barely reach the shoulders of the horse in front of him, just how the hell was he supposed to ride it? He didn't even know what a destrier was so what was he supposed to say about it?

"Rowland, please be serious! I'm supposed to learn how to ride, how am I supposed to do that with that thing? It's massive!" Shirou said, the fear in his chest leaking into his voice. "Can't we go and ask the baron for something smaller and… friendlier-looking?"

"Bah, Poppycock! You're a villager of Blackbay now, remember? There's no such thing as 'massive' when you're from Blackbay, only 'barely enough'. Ah would have gotten ya a larger horse if Ah had found one, but this one'll have to do. Now, let's get crackin'! We have to teach ya how to ride the beast now that you own it and since ya don't know anythin' about horses we need to make the most o' it!" He waved away Shirou's concerns like a bad smell before he took the saddle in Geoffrey's hands and put it on the horse's back, securing the straps and buckles while he was at it. "Geoffrey, teach the lad the basics would ya?"

"Aye Aye, Captain," the fishermen said with sarcasm, "It would be my pleasure!" he yelled at the taller tavern owner, receiving a laughter which sounded more like a bark than anything else in return. "Now then, what do you know about horses, aside from the fact that they have four legs and a nasty kick in each one?" The man asked Shirou.

Shirou tried searching his mind for anything he could find, but came up blank. He had never had any interest in learning how to ride a horse nor had Kiritsugu found it to be a necessity. According to him, a car or a motorcycle would help him far more than a horse since his structural analysis helped him repair anything that broke and the fact that horses required a lot more care than a vehicle did. Only in undeveloped third world countries would a horse be of any use and even then it would be a nuisance once he had accomplished his goals. Boy, had that kind of thinking come back to bite him in the ass.

"Nothing huh?" Geoffrey stated after Shirou's ignorance showed on his expression. "Don't worry about it, just remember the basics and you'll be fine. Alright, the first thing you want to do is to sit still in the saddle and gently…"

What followed was a brief summary, barely an introduction, on how he was supposed to ride. It couldn't have been more than an hour as the fisherman spouted out detail after detail which Shirou needed to remember. He was told how to sit up straight, make it go forward and turn and how to stop, each maneuver being explained by skipping from how to move his legs to how he should use the reins. He tried to hammer the lesson into his skull, but Geoffrey's lecture wasn't exactly a proper lesson. He merely glossed over what Shirou considered to be vital information, information he would gladly have spent more than a few seconds on learning. Maybe it was merely common knowledge, but the drastic ease he spoke about riding was almost impressive. For a man of the sea he sure acted like he knew a lot about horses, despite the fact that he didn't teach Shirou much about them. How the man spent an entire hour talking about horses and yet somehow he wasn't able to understand half of it was astounding.

Though a part of him thought the man was simply trying to look smart rather than actually knowing what he said was true.

Squeeze the horse's sides with your legs to make him go forward. Pull on the reins to make him turn. Lean back to make him stop. These were all important lessons and he did teach him how to do it, but despite the ease he spoke of it, when Rowland had finished strapping the saddle onto the back of the horse all the instructions on riding were swimming in his head.

"So, think you're ready to ride?" Shirou opened his mouth to voice his concerns, but was interrupted by the fisherman's encouragement. "Rowland seems to be done so come on. No time's like the present and all that!" Geoffrey said, his energy somehow not assuring him whatsoever.

"Maybe we should try this tomorrow instead, so I have time to… rehearse. I don't this is a good idea, to start riding right away. Shouldn't I learn how to take care of a horse first, like cleaning the stables and brushing?" Please say he needed to clean the stables! Please say he needed to clean the stables!

"Nah, the village has someone take care of it every week. You need to ride for the battle, caring for the horse comes afterwards!" Geoffrey said confidently, leading him to the stallion by Rowland's side.

Isn't it the opposite? Shouldn't caring for the horse come first? What was happening, where did the Geoffrey who was afraid to even talk to Shirou? He preferred it when Geoffrey tried to stay as far away from his as possible over this.

Before he had the chance to voice his complaints, Rowland picked him up and planted him firmly in the saddle. Despite the fact that Shirou was a healthy fourteen year old with more than his fair share of muscles due to his training, the old man didn't even look troubled by the weight he was lifting up. Shirou tried to object, but once more he was interrupted.

"Ah knew you were tiny, but Ah never thought you were so light. We need to get some food in ya before you starve to death." He wasn't tiny! He was actually rather tall for his age. It wasn't his fault the people of this age were superhuman for some strange reason, Rowland being the prime example. A man pushing sixty had no business lifting him like he was a toddler.

"Listen, can we just calm down for one second?!" He hissed out at the both of them, earning a shocked look from the two adults. "Good, thank you! I know I have to learn how to ride, but don't you think I should have a little more practice with a horse which doesn't look like it's about to kill me before I have to ride a horse which actually does look like it's about to kill me?" He asked them. Sure, the horse didn't appear very aggressive, but it didn't look very friendly either. If he had to describe it then he'd say it looked like the person in a movie which has a unreadable poker face and you're not sure he's thinking about gumdrops and ice cream or if he's trying to figure out the best way to hide the body after stabbing you thirty-nine times.

He was hoping the horse was thinking about gumdrops and ice cream, or the equine equivalent.

"True, but it takes a long time to learn how to ride a warhorse and none of us know how to ride a destrier. We figured we'd let you learn by your mistakes than to teach you how to ride a normal horse and then teach you how to ride a real warhorse. Seemed more… What's the word I'm looking for, Rowland?" Geoffrey turned to the tavern owner.

"Useful maybe? Ah dunno, but you need to learn fast. Ridin' is as big a part o' a knight's life as sword fightin' is, and the duke will probably want you to join his knights after the battle is over. It doesn't matter if you're young and inexperienced, a knight must know how to ride." Rowland explained, once more surprising Shirou with his insight of the noble lifestyle. Rowland noticed his questioning look and responded. "Ah was a merchant, remember? And even Ah knew how to ride a horse when Ah was your age."

Shirou frowned, sensing that the two of them wouldn't budge in their efforts to 'help' him. Even if their definition of helping him was scaring him to death with a horse worthy of the Four horsemen. He sighed and steeled himself for what was about to come, or gallop if he wasn't careful.

"Okay, but can I at least get used to the horse before we start?" He asked them, trying to familiarize himself with the saddle. It was surprisingly comfortable, though the stirrups were very primitive. Instead of the steel stirrups he had seen in the old western movies, these were just rope tied in a loop for his shoes. Better than nothing, but they could use some refinement. A trip to the blacksmith might prove useful.

"Absolutely, laddie! So, take ahold of the reins and try to sit as straight as possible. Do you remember what Geoffrey told ya?" Rowland asked, his excitement leaking into his voice.

"Yeah, now I should make it walk slowly right?" Shirou responded. Maybe he'd get used to it before the end of the day? Maybe he'd be a prodigy at riding?

"Hogwash! Let's get ya gallopin'!" Rowland laughed as he ignored Shirou.

"What do you meaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHAHAHHAAAAAAAHHAHAHAAAAAAGH!" Shirou yelled as Rowland smacked the rump of the horse and the stallion took off running. The villagers around them looked up, large grins appearing on their faces as they noticed what Rowland and Geoffrey had done. Laughter broke out all over the village as more and more saw what the commotion was about. Even the soldiers joined in before they had to dodge the rampaging stallion.

Hadrian of Shamblefields soon arrived and saw them laughing like fools, and a frown appeared on his face.

"Was that really necessary, Rowland?" The hunter and second-in-command of the archers asked the older men.

"Of course it was, lad. Village tradition, lad, all youths who are learning how to ride must be scared out of their lives on their first try. Shirou is a member of Blackbay, doesn't matter if it's for good or bad." The tall tavern owner said, his frame shaking with barely repressed mirth. His joy did nothing to lessen the archer's disapproval.

"I just think it's horrible of you to get him a horse so ill-tempered the baron has been unable to use him for anything other than breeding. Not even our best men have been able to sit on the saddle for more than a few minutes." He said, irritation clear in his voice. Rowland and Geoffrey broke out into even more laughter at his words. "What's so funny?" He asked.

"We didn't get him THAT horse, we're simply borrowing it for the day. We got him the courser in the stables, a young mare, good for young riders. We just wanted his first ride to be memorable!" Having said that, the two men collapsed in a fit of laughter, leaving Hadrian the only man left with the ability to form coherent sentences.

"Oh." Was all the archer could say. Before long though, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "In that case I can see the amusement." The archer said. "But wouldn't it have been a lot more fun if you had tricked him into riding a bull?"

Their laughter stopped as they stared at the young hunter. Watching the minds of the villagers thinking of how much of an opportunity they wasted, Hadrian left them as the smile broke out on his face.

"…"

"You think we can trick him into riding a bull after this?"

"Shut up, Geoffrey."

Truly a wasted opportunity.

**AOB**

"It wasn't funny." Shirou grumbled, taking another bite of the grilled fish in front of him.

"Maybe not from your point o' view, but from mine it was funnier than watchin' Charles piss his pants." He paused as he took another swing from the jug in his hands. "Well, maybe not THAT funny."

"I'm serious…" Shirou started.

"So was Ah, seeing Charles piss himself is funnier." Rowland explained, but quietened when he saw Shirou's dark look.

"You do realize I could have died?" Shirou asked the old man. Rowland sighed in response.

"Don't be so overdramatic. Every single person in the village who knows how to ride had to go through the same and not a single person has died so far. Besides, you have magic to help you out in a pinch and that strange magic healin' ability to take care of any broken legs." Rowland assured him.

"So I _could_ have broken a leg while I was riding that thing!" Shirou exclaimed and Rowland grimaced as he realized he let the truth slip. He groaned as he scratched the top of his head.

"It happens from time to time, but it's not very common. Only if the horse collapses on your leg does the bone actually break, but it would have taken a lot to make Skullcrusher trip. He's a warhorse, they're about as easy to tip over as a mountain." He said, taking another mouthful of ale.

"Skullcrusher?" Shirou asked. It took him a moment to connect the name to the behemoth he had been tossed around by just a little less than an hour before. "His name is 'Skullcrusher'?" he asked in disbelief.

"The previous owner was a knight who had lost his land due to sleeping with his lord's daughter. He had been a part of the army and had been known for his cruelty. His horses were trained to be as ferocious as possible." He explained. Shirou stared at him, not sure whether the man was actually trying to kill him.

"And you let me ride a horse which used to belong to said knight? Are you trying to kill me or are you just insane?" He spoke of his concern and Rowland snorted.

"Skullcrusher was barely old enough to be trained when he was sold and doesn't know anything about fightin'. All he has is a bad temper and a good bloodline, the only reason the baron bought him to begin with. Destrier blood is good for the local stables and it's not like Charles is going to ride a horse anytime soon. With the war between the kingdoms in Britannia takin' its toll on the good horses, bloodlines have become more important than they used to be." He said before stopping rather abruptly. Taking a bite out of his lunch, some kind of perch according to Rowland, Shirou chewed quickly to ask him what was wrong.

"It's nothin', just waiting for a message from Ludvig s'all." The man said before he shut up. Realizing he wasn't going to get anything out of him on that topic, Shirou changed topic.

"How many kingdoms are there in Britannia?" He asked. It had been on his mind the last two weeks, but he had never been able to find a chance to ask anyone. Between training the archers and forging weapons, lessons on the country he was currently in seemed rather unimportant.

"Well," the tavern owner started, scratching his thick gray beard and taking a sip from his ale, "That's a good question, lad. In the last couple o' years the kingdoms around here have been at each other's throats and smaller territories have been absorbed by the larger ones. Aside from the tiny ones that barely matter, there are five kingdoms at the moment." He explained, walking over to an old closet. After a few seconds of digging around the ancient wardrobe, he pulled out an equally old scroll made from parchment. Folding it out on the table, Shirou could see a map of Britannia on it. Though the color was old and faded with several lines made from black ink had been drawn over the map, he could make out the different kingdoms the land had been split into.

"We live here, in Albion with Duke Vortigern in charge." He said, pointing at what would become London one day. The area under the duke enveloped several smaller territories, but it would not be inaccurate to say he controlled the south-east of England. "We're not actually a kingdom, since we have an alliance with King Arthur and Vortigern is just a duke, but there's nobody to stop him from declaring himself as the king of Albion. It's just a pain to have the actual coronation and it would create problems with Arthur. Just the usual politics to complicate matters, right?" he said. Next he pointed at the south-west of Britannia.

"This place is Cornwall under King Mark. He was originally a duke of Cornwall, but when he expanded from his domain he started callin' himself a king and renamed everythin' he conquered into Cornwall. Makes a pain in the arse to travel there since he changed the names of even the small villages after he took over them, the pretentious twat!" He glared at the large area called Cornwall before moving on. He moved his finger to an area he actually knew the name of, but he wasn't sure it still had the same name in the middle ages. Wales was a modern name, but exactly when had the name been created?

"That's King Arthur's kingdom, Britannia." Huh, who would have thought? "He's the legitimate heir to the entire island, but the rest of the lords in the kingdom refuse to consider it. A damn shame, but what do you expect from inbred bastards with shit for brains? Anyway, since he is the heir of the kingdom he kept the name of Britannia for his land. Caused the other lords quite a bit of trouble when they had to rename their kingdoms." The man spat on the floor, only to stop after he looked down at the saliva. Upon seeing it he growled once he realized he had spat in his own tavern. After a few seconds of glaring, he turned back to the map.

"Why is he the legitimate heir?" Shirou asked, his curiosity compelling him to ask the question rather than to let the man continue. Rowland shrugged before he registered the question, snapping back to him. Perhaps his regret over spitting on his own floor had confused him?

"He's the son of the previous king, Uther Pendragon and he's the one who pulled the sword from the stone. If he hadn't pulled the sword then Vortigern might have been able to ascend to the throne, even though not a single lord would have abdicated, but he has both the lineage and the steel to prove his right to the crown. Vortigern might be the brother o' the previous king, but a son's claim is stronger than that o' a brother's. It's one o' the reasons Vortigern joined his little alliance and one o' the reasons he hates his nephew. Still, as long as Arthur keeps Cornwall busy we don't have to worry about the bastard invadin' us while we're busy with the Saxons." Scratching his beard he pointed at another kingdom, this time in the northern part of Britannia. It was by far one of the largest kingdoms, taking up almost a third of England and bordering onto Scotland.

"That, lad, is the country of Rheged, led by the beautiful queen Rowena. Trust me when I say this, don't ever go, lad." He warned Shirou, his eyes fixated on the letters which Shirou could barely make out _Rheged_ from. The seriousness and fear in his eyes almost shook Shirou to his core. He hadn't seen Rowland this affected since he had spoken of the wargs two weeks ago.

"Why, is it dangerous over there? Do they have monsters like the wargs?" If they were suffering from monsters like Blackbay had been, shouldn't they be helping them instead? He couldn't just leave them alone if they needed help, especially not after having saved Blackbay.

"No lad, they don't have monsters like the wargs. Rowena and Morgan are monsters enough." He explained grimly. Shirou's breath hitched and he looked wide-eyed at Rowland.

"Morgan? As in Morgan Lefay, the woman who helped Ludvig?" He asked, and gaped when Rowland nodded.

"Aye, the one and the same. They were on… decent terms with Arthur until recently, but after Morgan was caught practicing dark arts and Rowena helped her sister-wife kill the guards in Camelot and escape they have been fighting each other with a passion. They're almost as cruel as they are beautiful and the country isn't much better. Women are in control and men are little better than slaves. Their army is one o' the strongest, but with the scots, picts, Irishmen, Arthur and Ritho fighting them day and night it's a wonder they haven't been defeated. Probably because Rowena receives support from the father, a saxon warchief." He told Shirou.

So Morgan was from the kingdom of Rheged, but she was helping Ludvig protect Albion from the Saxons when Rowena was receiving help from the Saxons? That didn't make any sense! Why would Morgan help Ludvig if it meant sabotaging the Saxons?

"Why would Morgan help us against the Saxons if the Saxons are helping Rowena?" he asked Rowland, his own experience with medieval politics being rather abysmal. Rowland grunted before he started talking.

"Ah'm not certain of the details, but the warchief invadin' us is a political rival of'the warchief helpin' Rowena. Ah'm guessin' the warchief would gain status and leverage if he was able to gain a stronghold on Britannia and Rowena wants to prevent that. But Ah dunno, Ah'm not privy to the details." Rowland shrugged, his face reddening by the minute as the alcohol started to take effect.

"Is there anything special I should know about the country aside from the fact that they have a witch as a queen and they treat men as slaves?" He asked the slightly drunk tavern owner. He frowned at the map, unsure how to react to the odd piece of information. He had never heard about the country before, not even in world history. If only he had studied the Arthurian legends some more. Maybe then he might have known something about them, instead of simply hearing about it now. It just didn't seem to fit for some reason, odd as it was. An Amazonian-esque kingdom in the middle of medieval England? It felt like a poorly written plot for a B-movie.

"If you have the chance to fuck a woman from Rheged, take it." Rowland said. "They're like lions in bed, no shitting around like the wenches around here." The old man laughed out before draining the mug in his hands. After putting down the wooden mug he let out a thunderous burp, made even louder due to the empty nature of the tavern.

In the weeks Shirou had gotten to know the man he had been able to learn the various signs of his drunkenness. Once he began to speak crudely about women and soldiers he was usually halfway to passing out. Since he still needed some more information he figured he should get back to the topic at hand.

"What about the last country, the one here?" he asked, pointing at the middle of Britannia. There was a large piece of land untouched by marks of black ink, unlike Albion's, Cornwall's and Rheged's uneven and scratched out borders.

"That's Ritho, led by King Rience. Try not to go there, not if you still want your head attached to your shoulders. Rience hates Arthur more than any other in Britannia, and by association, Vortigern. He's a prick, plain and simple, in every possible way imaginable. Bloody wanker even went so far as to send raids into Albion after Vortigern allied himself with King Arthur. We lost a lot of good people before the northern front was established." Rowland said drunkenly. Considering he was looking down his mug and not going to get it refilled, Shirou was guessing the old man had realized he had started drinking a little too early. Considering it was barely three in the afternoon, he still had a lot of work to do before he could get really hammered.

"Why does he hate Arthur so much?" Arthur wasn't such a bad person, was he? He didn't seem like it from the legends about him.

"Bastard simply doesn't want to give up his crown. After Uther died Rience was the first person to declare himself king, mere months after the previous king dies. When Arthur plucked the sword from the stone, Rience realized he was royally fucked if he lost the crown he had been fightin' so hard for, especially when he disregarded everythin' Uther had made him promised before he died. To him, Arthur is a danger he can't afford to ignore." Rowland said offhandedly, swinging his legs up on the bench. For a moment it looked like he was going to lie down when he straightened up as he looked at Shirou.

"Wait here, Ah'm going to get somethin'." The tavern keeper said before Shirou had the chance to open his mouth. The tall man stood up from his seat and walked over to… the door? It hadn't been Shirou he had been looking at, it had been the door.

No, he was walking over to a man standing by the door. It was one of Sir Ludvig's men, a tall soldier wearing chainmail and a helmet. He appeared to be a somewhat privileged soldier, but not quite a knight judging by the state of his armor. Both he and Rowland spoke for a few minutes before the soldier left, grabbing his spear and nodding in Shirou's direction. Now that he took a closer look, the spear in his hands was one of his own designs. A nod of gratitude perhaps?

Nonetheless, Rowland returned to the table with a urgency in his steps. There was something about the way he moved that told him something important had happened and it was going to affect him somehow.

"What's going on?" he asked the tavern owner as he returned. Rowland didn't answer immediately, but took his time in formulating an answer.

"Ludvig wants to see us as soon as possible over at Charles' house, which in his language means 'Get over here right now!' Ah'd finish that fish o' yours if Ah'd were you, somethin' tells me we don't want to be late to whatever it is he has goin' on." He said, his gaze focused somewhere else.

"Any idea what he wants?" Shirou asked, hurrying to eat everything on his plate. He still hadn't finished his potatoes or the fish and he hadn't even touched the stale loaf of bread. At least the bread he could eat on the way, but he couldn't carry an entire fish while walking to the baron's house. Not only would he look stupid (Something he had already accomplished with his impromptu horse riding), but he would probably not be able to finish it before he got to the mansion. Having a mouth filled with fish was probably not a good way to speak to a noble.

"Ah have an inklin', but Ah'd rather not guess wildly before Ah have a chance to confirm it." he said quietly. Shirou swallowed the food in his mouth and continued.

"And exactly what is this 'inkling' you have that you don't want to speculate on?" he asked, pushing on. His curiosity had awoken and there was no stopping it before it found the answer it was looking…

"Ah think Ludvig just executed the baron."

…for.

Damn it.

**AOB**

The walk to the baron's mansion was a quiet one.

Even if Shirou knew what to talk about, the urge to talk had evaporated once he found out what Rowland had suspected. What was there to say about it, aside from the fact that a man had died? Shirou didn't like the guy, not after what he had been subjecting Blackbay to for fifteen years. In a way, the baron's death was justified. The deaths of every villager who had been killed the last decade and a half were on his shoulders even if the Saxons had been the ones to bring them to Britannia. The baron was supposed to take care of the people under his rule, but Charles had done nothing of the sort. That was why Shirou couldn't feel sorry for him.

On the other hand, having him executed without a word or warning felt wrong. Baron Distray should pay for his crimes, but having him killed without a trial or anything was not the sort of punishment he had been expected. Shouldn't the duke be around to oversee the trial and to pass judgement?

So immersed in his own thoughts, thinking up different scenarios, he didn't even notice he had arrived at the gates to the rather impressive mansion. Up until now the only locations he had been to in the last few weeks had been the village, the camp and the warg's den. There was no reason for him to go anywhere else since he already had a lot of responsibilities to take care of in Blackbay. On top of that, he didn't know any other places in this day and age. Where was he supposed to go if he left Blackbay? He could always travel the different villages in 'Albion', but what then? Blackbay was the only place he needed so far, a factor he was not about to change for now.

However, for all that he had not seen anything other than the places he needed to know, the baron's mansion was rather impressive. Although not very large, slightly smaller than the tavern, it was made very differently. While the tavern was made from large logs stacked onto each other like most building were back then, the mansion was built with an aesthetic mindset. Stone and mortar supported by wooden logs gave it the appearance of a medieval castle, if miniaturized. The grounds of the mansion were also unlike the village, as green grass covered what would have been wet mud around the village. Bushes and trees grew around the garden and some might be more for the fruit they bore rather than for appearance, but they were all arranged in a way that they gave the mansion a regal look. It was not a building he would have thought existed near a village as shabby as Blackbay.

A small part of the injustice he was feeling for the baron disappeared when he was able to look at the living conditions of the nobleman.

"I see you two made it here without trouble." Ludvig said, clad in his normal attire and a small smile gracing his aging features. Nothing about the knight indicated he had just executed a baron.

"It was nothing much, the only problem was the mud once more." Rowland responded to the knight's greeting. A sense of déjà vu struck Shirou as he heard the conversation the two men were having.

"Aye, but the roads will have to wait until after the Saxons have been dealt with. We've been over this already Rowland." Sir Ludvig said with a sigh. The day Shirou had joined the army, when Shirou had first met the man properly, they had been talking about mud and the roads. For some reason he got the impression it had not been the first time those two had been fighting over trivial matters compared to the threat at hand.

"Yeah yeah, let's just get this over with. Ah'm not in the mood for pleasantries." Rowland grumbled. Ludvig took note of the other man's mood and sighed.

"You've been drinking already I see, not regretting your part in informing me of Charles's incompetence, are we?" He asked and Rowland hissed in response, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Ah'm not regrettin' a single damn thin', but this is bad business any way you see it. Now shut up and let's get goin'!" He said and Ludvig, without responding to the man's insult, turned and walked into the mansion.

During the past two weeks Shirou had been able to observe Rowland's interactions with Ludvig and the rest of the village and he had been struck by the way Rowland could speak to some people. Despite being nothing but a tavern owner and a former merchant, Rowland was surprisingly respected by the knights in the army. Even knights who were the sons of nobles respected him and did not punish him for his comments. How Rowland had managed to achieve such a level power when he should by all means be at the bottom of the food chain was beyond Shirou at the moment, but he was intent on finding out. Even now, when Ludvig had demonstrated his authority by executing a noble did Rowland budge or show any signs of fear. Very impressive, considering Ludvig's position as the Commander.

"Sir Emiya, has Rowland informed you of why I called for you?" Ludvig's voice made him snap his head towards the back of sir Ludvig's head. The older knight had not even bothered to turn his head towards Shirou when he spoke to him, either a sign of disrespect or a sign of intense concentration.

Shirou was guessing it was a little bit of column A and a little bit from column B.

"He thinks you just killed baron Distray." There was no point in playing dumb, not after he had been told he was an awful liar. Besides, he had asked what Rowland had thought, it was only fair he answered truthfully.

"I don't kill Emiya, I'm not a murderer. What happened to the baron was unfortunate, but he had brought it onto himself with his constant lying and greed. Treating your subjects harshly is accepted, but letting them die outright is not allowed, something Charles had been doing for fifteen years. The fact that he gave up in trying to eradicate the wargs after a single failed attempt was also a failure on his part, a fatal one. The duke sent me a bird this morning, giving me the authority to deal with the baron in a manner I saw fit. I saw execution as a fitting punishment. Execution Emiya, not murder." Ludvig responded offhandedly, as if he was simply correcting someone's test and found a incorrect answer. It grated Shirou's nerves, but he held it in.

"So why did you call for us then? I don't see how I have any reason to be here, considering I never even met the guy." Aside from that time when he had just arrived to this time period and the baron had been informed of the men the village needed to contribute with. He had seen the baron ask the knight for a smaller amount, but Ludvig had not budged. Ever since then the baron had never left the mansion and Shirou had never needed a reason to go there. Their paths had simply never crossed.

"I thought it would have been quite simple to understand. As of this moment, the three most powerful figures in the army and the village are assembled. Rowland is the spokesperson of the village and acting-baron until the duke has a chance to select a new one. I'm the Commander of the Southern Army and highest ranked officer in the army. And you, Sir Emiya, are the wizard of Blackbay and Captain of the archers. Although I am the person with highest rank, both military and status, you two are second and third in terms of status at the moment." He said as they neared a large wooden door, made from an old oak and decorated with carved figures. He opened the door and stepped inside, inviting them in by holding the door open. Rowland accepted the invitation first and Shirou followed after a moment of hesitation.

"What of the other knights? Aren't they technically higher than us?" he asked, uncertain of where Ludvig was going with this. Not for the first time did he wish people would simply speak what was on their minds instead of going through a bunch of political explanations first.

"In case you haven't noticed, the Southern Army is made up of knights who are either from poor families or they're the bastard children or third sons of whatever lord had sired them. Even if their parents care for them like proper parents, their stations are simply that of knights and men-at-arms. Without a noble title to elevate them to my position they cannot oppose my decisions without a noble to back their claims. And seeing how the only noble in the immediate area is dead and the viscount of Hastings has departed to join the duke, my orders are absolute. With the possible exception of you two." The knight didn't sound nearly as intimidating as the words he spoke would make you believe. Sitting down on a soft chair and holding a goblet of wine in his hands, he almost looked relaxed.

"I fail to see how we can make a difference when you literally have an army under your command." He said dryly. An old man and a teenager, against an army of over four thousand? It had to be a joke, but Ludvig did not look like he was a man who made jokes after having a man killed. In fact, he didn't look like a man who made jokes at all.

"What he means, lad…" Rowland interrupted, once more scratching his beard. "…Is that not everythin' works accordin' to rank. He might be a Commander, but an army is only as strong as their food supply. Take away their food and you take away their strength. Blackbay is their food supply and Ah'm the spokesperson o' Blackbay. Even if Ludvig ordered them to plunder the village for food or to occupy the village, the fact that they have to attack a village which is supposed to be under their command is goin' to shake the army's foundations. The productivity would also go down if they did that, somethin' Ludvig wants to avoid at all cost. In other words, he wants me loyalty to ensure the success of the campaign." He said with such ease Shirou suspected he might have rehearsed it. Ludvig simply nodded and was about to talk when Shirou cut him off.

"And me? What do I have to do with it?" He asked, almost missing Ludvig's frown at being interrupted.

"You're a wizard and you have the loyalty o' the archers, and a large part o' the infantry thanks to your spears. If you say jump they'll be catching geese in flight before you can say how high. If you were to openly disagree with Ludvig then you'll create a rift in the chain of command. Ludvig can't afford somethin' like that to happen right before the invasion. He needs you on his team, whether he likes it or not." Rowland explained, cutting Ludvig off as well. Ludvig grit his teeth Shirou could almost hear the sound of molars breaking against each other and felt a small hint of satisfaction at the sound. Maybe he would turn to look at Shirou the next time he they spoke after this little conversation was over.

"Yes Rowland, thank you for your explanation. I daresay we would not be able to know what we were talking about without your impeccable insight." He 'thanked' the tavern owner, a ripple of anger coursing through the older man's frame.

"Always happy to be o' service, old chap!" Rowland replied, genuinely happy over being complimented, even if Ludvig was being sarcastic about it.

"If you want to be of service then might you be able to shut you damn gob before I punch your teeth in?" The knight said and continued to speak before Rowland had the chance to reply. "Now then, as Rowland so eloquently put it, I need your cooperation for this campaign to work. Since we have limited time available to use, we must make the most of what we have. That is the reason I have summoned the two of you here tonight, to go over our plans for the invasion." He motioned for them to sit down on the chairs. One of the chairs was made from polished wood and had plenty of padding while the other was significantly older and the padding had slowly diminished, small bits of wool emerging through a hole in the fabric. When they both began to move towards the more comfortable chair they stopped. After looking at each other and having a wordless discussion, they both bolted to their new target.

Rowland might have been an old man, but he was a hell of a lot faster than he looked. For a moment it seemed as if Shirou would win, but at the last second he was pushed away as the bartender sat down on the soft seat. Tumbling to the ground, Shirou shot the old man a dirty look.

"Sorry lad. You win some, you lose some." Was the only apology he would get it seemed. Walking over to the wooden chair, he sat down and sighed in defeat. It was it was every bit as uncomfortable it looked.

'_Stupid old man.'_

"Are you two finished or should I start a betting pool on the next dumb thing you'll be fighting over?" Ludvig asked, his left eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"Please, continue." Shirou said as he tried to find a position that didn't feel like he was trying to sit on a bunch of uneven rocks without falling over.

"Right, as Rowland said, you both possess some form of authority that could affect the army either positively or negatively. I want to ensure you do it in a positive way. So, name your price." Ludvig said.

Price? What price?

"You'll have to forgive the lad, he's a wee bit slow in the head." Rowland said, having obviously seen Shirou's confused expression. "What Sir Ludvig means is what it would take for us to cooperate with him. That kind of price." he said without batting an eye.

What it would take to… wait, was Ludvig trying to bribe him?

"You're… trying to bribe us?" He vocalized his concern and Ludvig gave him a dry look before he answered.

"Bribe is a filthy and condescending way of putting it. The way I see it, you possess something I desire and I'm asking you what it is I possess which could convince you to give me what I desire. A trade, for a lack of better words." He said smoothly.

"Except a bribe is a better word." Shirou replied and Ludvig's jaw looked like it would break for a short second.

"If you insist on calling it a bribe then I suppose you will see it that way. Regardless, name your price and I shall see it fulfilled. I'd rather have this meeting over as soon as possible. I have a war council tomorrow and I suspect I will have to listen to one of Sir Connley's tantrums again. I'd rather suffer through it after a good night's sleep." He responded to Shirou's barb with minimal response aside from the jaw-clenching.

"Well then, don't mind if I do! A hundred barrels of gold and the same amount in wine, a dozen destriers and twice the number o' palfreys along with three dozen cows and three bulls…" Rowland started listing off the impossible demands he had, but Ludvig stopped him in the middle of it.

"Are you truly as stupid as you look or are you simply born to play the fool? Aside from the gold and wine, I can arrange for a single one of those commands, but if you don't stop acting like the insane buffoon you look like you are then I will have your head on my mantelpiece." He growled out, trying to maintain the persona he had crafted for himself.

While Rowland argued with the knight, Shirou was thinking about what he should do. What should he ask for? There were so many things he needed to do they were swimming in his head. Yet he could not bring a single thing to mind, like trying to catch a fish with his bare hands. He had an opportunity, a chance to do something meaningful, but what? Ludvig obviously had a limit in what he pay for their cooperation, but what was the limit? Suddenly a thought broke through all the other possible things he could ask for and he made up his mind.

"No slaves." He said, and both Ludvig and Rowland turned to stare at him.

"What?" the knight said, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

"I don't want the army to take any slaves. It's cruel, it's inhumane and there's no point in doing it. That's my price." He said, strengthening his resolve for the argument the knight was sure to respond with.

"Absolutely not! The slaves are a large part of the repayment we plan to use in order to appease the lords of Albion we offended because of the war. If we did not use slaves as payment then we would have to pay them in gold or livestock, something we would still have to take from the Saxons." Ludvig said, anger in his voice like lava from a volcano.

"Then don't take them as slaves. Give them homes and a place to work here in Britannia. If you take their livestock and money from them then they'll starve to death in their homelands. At least give them a chance to survive here. Blackbay's population had been decreasing lately and they only have a single farmer. Let them build their own farms and give them land here. More people mean more productivity, right?" He argued. He was not going to budge on the matter. He couldn't stand back and let hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent people fall victim to slavery because of their leaders were greedy.

"You're still forgetting the fact that we have to repay the lords for their knight's service to the crown. A knight is supposed to bring back slaves and gold for their lords and if you had your way then they would get neither slaves nor gold because the _gold_ would be used to build farms and houses for the _slaves_." The old Commander replied, his face red and veins pulsing.

Why was the man so obsessed about taking slaves? Because he wanted the title of nobility? Shirou felt his face heat up and his heart beating in his chest like a war drum. His blood was boiling in anger in response to Ludvig's own furious expression. He was about to yell at the man when Rowland put his hand on his shoulder.

"Let's settle down while we still have our cools, don't we?" He said and the calm expression on his face told him he had a plan. Ludvig seemed to see that as well, as the old knight calmed down far faster than Shirou did.

"I take it you have a solution to the brat's stupidity?" he said and Shirou felt his anger return. Thankfully, Rowland responded before Shirou could.

"Ah do, though it's more o' a compromise than a solution." He said and Ludvig sighed.

"Well then, please go ahead. Don't keep us in suspense!" He said annoyed.

"Here's the thing; the lad wants the saxon prisoners to be free men once the invasion is over, but the lords want compensation for the men they supplied, right?" At Ludvig's impatient nod he continued. "Then give the Saxons to Blackbay and the gold to the lords. The lords will have a little more gold and jewelry to spend while Blackbay gets a few more residents."

Both Shirou and Ludvig looked at him like he had gone crazy, and for a moment Shirou actually did think he had gone mad. It wasn't a solution at all, if it was then why were they fighting? Ludvig seemed to be of the same mind, but more vocal about his thoughts.

"I realize now that you really are an insane buffoon, but be quiet before I need to put you down. I have more serious business to attend to with the brat over here." He said, but Rowland continued.

"You see, Blackbay has been losing villagers since the day the wargs arrived and most of the buildings in the village are used as storerooms for tools and materials. We could easily house a couple of more hundreds if we fix up the old houses with some help of your men. Shamblefields aren't quite as empty as we are, but they have been suffering lately because of Charles as well, with famine and disease taking families left and right. They could also take a hundred new inhabitants if we get help from the army to build a few houses and barns. The same thing with Skyfell, a few hundred farmers or fishermen wouldn't be too much of a problem." He said and Ludvig had stopped staring at him like he was crazy.

"And the lords? What of them?" He asked, and Rowland scratched his beards once more. Were beards really that scratchy?

"Give them the gold and jewelry you'll find on the battlefield, not like slaves would be allowed to own jewelry either way. Some of the cattle can be given as well, but we'll be keeping most of the livestock and foods you'll find in the villages. As long as it's not food or can be grown you can give it to the lords as compensation, otherwise we'll need it for the winter." The tavern owner offered and Ludvig looked unsure of himself for a moment. He eyed Rowland cautiously.

"You mean you can take in several hundreds of Saxons right before winter and the village won't suffer from it? You'll have to excuse me, but I find it hard to believe." He said doubtingly. Rowland chuckled as Ludvig frowned.

"Aye, our belts might be a wee bit tighter come spring, but haven't you noticed? The curse over this land has lifted, the cold has disappeared. With the wargs gone the cold gripping the land has disappeared and we can finally go back to how we used to live. As long as we ration the food and get the houses into livable conditions then we won't have too much o' a problem. What do ya say, Ludvig? Not a bad price for a wizard, eh?" The old man said, and for a slight moment Shirou felt his respect for the man soar. "Besides, if it'll make you feel better, I can get the lad to ride Skullcrusher again?" he added.

And the respect plummeted like a president's approval ratings after a sex scandal.

Ludvig laughed in agreement. "Fine, we'll do it your way, but I want to be there when you make the brat ride that monster." Shirou could feel Ludvig's amusement simply radiating from the man like heat from a furnace. He was enjoying this way too much for a man who had been furious just moments earlier. Just what the hell was wrong with the people of this day and age in order to be able to switch between moods so fast? Was Shirou missing some part of a joke and everyone else knew about it?

"Great! Now, about me cut…" Rowland started.

"I'm not giving you a hundred barrels of gold."

"Tch! Spoilsport."

**AOB**

"So a Destrier is a large warhorse and a courser is a less expensive one?" Rowland nodded and Shirou continued. "A Rouncey is a horse which can be used for both riding and battle, but a palfrey is used mostly for riding?"

"Aye, but most knights own at least one o' each kind so they can ride to the battle in a palfrey and then switch to a destrier." Rowland added and Shirou nodded.

They were in the stables again, the baron's stables this time, and since he had refused to ride Skullcrusher until he knew how to ride properly Rowland had offered to teach him more about horses before he began to ride. Shirou had naturally assumed he'd begin by caring for a horse, but Rowland had instead begun to teach him what kinds of horses existed and what they were used for.

It was surprisingly a lot of fun.

"Because palfreys are more comfortable to ride long distances with because they 'amble', got it." He said. Horses didn't seem to be labeled by breed, instead being sorted into different types. The most expensive horse was the warhorse called destrier, Skullcrusher belonging to that type. They were large and muscular, though not quite as massive as the draught horses of the modern day. They usually cost a lot of gold, more than twenty times more than an ordinary horse, and only the richest of lords could afford them. The only reason the baron had been able to buy Skullcrusher was because the training was incomplete and it had a horrible temper which didn't allow anyone but its former master to ride it. Even then it had cost a fortune, if Rowland's reaction when reading the baron's books was any indication.

The courser was the second most popular warhorse and could sometimes be almost as expensive as the destrier. They were usually not so large though and the price tended to end at ten times as much as a normal horse cost. Their smaller size often meant they were faster and swifter than a destrier so the lack of power was balanced out.

A Rouncey was the third and cheapest of the warhorses. It did not possess the immense musculature of the destrier or the courser, but was known for its speed which surpassed both. Said to be the fastest of horses, they were meant to pursue targets and route enemies rather than open battle, even though they were more than capable of fighting on the frontlines. It was also a popular riding horse, but it was outshined by the palfrey.

Palfreys were not meant for war, their sleek appearance not suitable for carrying a knight in armor. Instead they were used for riding long distances because of their trademark gait called 'ambling'. They were among the most expensive of horses, equaling the destrier in price and very sought after by the nobles. Whereas a poor knight usually made do with a Rouncey and a cheap riding horse, a rich lord would own a destrier _and_ a palfrey.

Since he knew a bit more about the creatures he was supposed to be riding soon he felt like he was a bit more prepared for it. The last time he was riding he had been rushed into it, all because of some stupid tradition Rowland wanted to keep alive, but at least this time he was more comfortable with it. Of course that was just a summary of sorts, it was impossible to learn everything there was about horses in a single day, but it was a good start.

"So lad, are you ready to try ridin' again?" Rowland asked, and Shirou felt his heart jump up in his throat. Taking a moment to compose himself, he gave Rowland a small glare.

"That depends, are you going to make me ride Skullcrusher again?" He asked in return and Rowland chuckled. He smacked his knee and stood up before walking to the stall belonging to a horse.

"Nah, Ah wouldn't do that to you. Besides, you still need to get to know your real horse. Can't have the captain of the archers ridin' a horse he never met before durin' the battle." He said as he took a rope with a bit attached to it and walked into the stall. He came out with a horse a moment later, and for a moment Shirou was shocked.

It was of average size, but the color of the coat was pitch black except for a small strip of white on its forehead running down to its nose. Unlike the rippling muscle of Skullcrusher, the horse in front of him was sleeker with a refined appearance. It still possessed its fair share of muscles, but the was built differently. Comparing it to Skullcrusher was like comparing a river to a mountain, there was no point to it when it was obvious they had different purposes.

"You like her, huh? She's a courser, one of the local bloodlines. Got her from the baron's stables the same day we borrowed Skullcrusher. Been testin' her out the last few days to see how she behaves and she's one of the finest I've ever ridden. You want to take her for a tour 'round the village?" The tavern owner asked, stroking the horse's head softly.

"Okay…" He said nervously. Memories about his last time riding resurfaced and he fought to repress them. He had been told, both by Rowland and by Hadrian, that being nervous while riding would make the horse nervous as well, increasing the odds for being thrown off. What he needed to do was to project a confident and brave front, both to make the horse more relaxed and to make the men around him more confident as well.

Easier said than done.

Going through the steps in preparing the horse for a ride, Shirou followed what Rowland said. Attaching the reins, securing the saddle and scraping out any dirt from the hooves, it was almost a therapeutic exercise and it did wonders in getting rid of the stress he had been building up. It also made him wonder why Rowland knew all of this.

"Hey Rowland, how come you know so much about… well, everything? You know about horses, you know so much about the kings and you can talk to knights like your equals. How is that possible?" It had been bugging him for a while, how he could talk to nobles and knights without being punished for it, but he had never thought to question it.

The old man grimaced, but didn't answer immediately. It took a few moments before he even opened his mouth. "You spend your life a merchant and you're bound to make a few friends here and there. I just happened to make all the right kind of friends." He said and for some reason he didn't have the slightest shred of an accent when saying that. Shirou was about to comment on it when he broke out into a loud scoff. "Now get on the horse, lad! We ain't got all damn day and Ah ain't waitin' here for you to get back if you take too long!" He barked out and the accent returned in full force.

"Yeah yeah, hold your horses." Shirou said as he put his grime-covered sneaker through the rope-stirrup. He heaved himself up, careful not to get caught in the saddle and planted himself securely in the seat. He adjusted his position and turned to Rowland. "Is this the right way to ride a horse?" He asked, already knowing he had made a few errors.

"Almost, you need to straighten your back and shoulders otherwise your balance is gonna be off." He did as the old man said and straightened up. "That's it, now try making her walk out of the stables."

Taking a deep breath, he used his legs to squeeze the courser's sides gently. At once the mare began to walk forward in a slow pace barely faster than a human walk. The horse's movements almost made him lose his balance, but compared to the bucking of Skullcrusher it was a cakewalk. All he needed to do was adjust his weight slightly and make sure he was ready by the next step and it almost felt easy. He was out of the stables before he knew it and the wind almost slapped him in the face to wake him up.

"That's it lad, now try to turn to the left and head for the village. Ah'm gonna head for the camp and talk to Ludvig for a bit, gotta make sure the fish gets delivered too. Try to get a feel for the horse in the meantime." Rowland said as he too rode out on a horse, except his was a grey horse with spots all over the coat.

Shirou nodded, letting out a nervous breath once more. Okay, all he needed to do was to ride to the village, circle around it and turn back. No big deal, if Rowland made it sound like a piece of cake then it shouldn't be too much of an issue. He didn't even need to ride fast, he simply needed to ride as slowly as humanl… equinely possible. No need to rush.

He had to admit, after the first twenty minutes were over and he had gotten a hang of the horse's rhythm, it had quickly gotten easier to maintain his balance and his cool. His fear of being thrown off the horse had all but evaporated into a tiny dark thought at the back of his mind. The villagers had seen him arrive and while some of them laughed when they remembered his last time riding, most were supportive. The baker even gave him a loaf of bread to eat later and the farmer gave him a leg of lamb. He gratefully accepted both gifts, but when the farmer offered him an entire pig if he met the farmer's daughter he had to respectfully decline. Not to insult the farmer, but he was not looking for a wife, plus the fact that he was fourteen and she was twelve made him feel incredibly awkward.

Leaving the goods he had received from the villager's at the tavern, he began to ride towards the encampment. Since he needed all the training he needed he might as well take the opportunity to gain the experience on the way. He had been given some time off to learn riding, but he still needed to show up for the training of the archers. Riding there could be good practice, plus it gave him a chance to show them he actually could ride without looking like a fool. He just couldn't do it on Skullcrusher. Most likely not a single person in the entire world could.

While he had regained his confidence by riding to the encampment, he began to regret his decision about halfway there. He hadn't noticed it at first, but his legs and his abdominal muscles began to ache after a while and when he reached the river marking the halfway point his legs had lost almost all feeling. Even his stomach, which was trained and toned, felt like it was made from spaghetti by the time he reached the encampment. Was horse riding meant to be exhausting? Wasn't the point of riding horses to let the horse do all the work so the rider didn't have to? He had to be doing something wrong, he must have failed to do something or Rowland had forgotten to tell him something.

"Sir Emiya, I see you have been taking your lessons rather seriously!" A loud and jovial tone broke through the cacophony that was the encampment and reached his ears. Turning around he saw a knight with long and wavy blond hair, dressed in a finely decorated tunic and a pair of trousers. He stood out like a sore thumb amongst the soldiers around him wearing chainmail and leather. It was his face though that stood out the most, not his clothes. His hair could almost be mistake for gold and his face was as pale as it could possibly be while still giving off the impression of healthiness.

"Sir Vortimer." He said, trying to hide the discomfort he was in. "I try to take most things rather seriously." _'Please leave me alone so I can dismount. Just go, disappear!'_

"As is the prerogative of a magus, to practice Magecraft haphazardly is to tempt death, is it not? My mother used to say the same thing when she was practicing her Magecraft." Vortimer said smiling.

Suddenly Shirou didn't think his legs mattered all that much.

Not when there was a magus right next to him.


	10. End of Innocence

_**!SPOILERS!**_

_So this chapter was… I have no words to describe the difficulty I had in writing this. I knew it was not going to be a fighting chapter, I knew from the start. The problem was trying to make the seams fit with the plot I had already written. Jerad the Merchant was always going to be who he was, the loss of Shirou's innocence. I had decided when I first wrote the story that I did not want Shirou's first kill to be an accident or self-defense. It was always meant to be a deliberate act, a decision that would mark Shirou for life. The reason for that is because of who Shirou is. _

_Shirou wants to be a Hero of Justice. _

_Just like Kiritsugu wanted to be a hero, Shirou dreams of becoming a hero capable of saving everyone. The concept of having a Hero, who would sacrifice himself before all others, commit the act of murder as an execution was so compelling that I could not let it go. Archer had spent his afterlife murdering for the good of humanity, as the Executioner of Alaya. Emiya Shirou would murder a criminal who was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocents, as the Executioner of Blackbay. The thing about Shirou is that he wants to save everyone, even if it means sacrificing himself. However, if that person had brought that doom upon himself knowingly then he would not help that person because he deserves it. When Kotomine Kirei tried to activate the grail and destroy the world, Shirou fought to stop him, even if it meant killing him. When Gilgamesh tried to activate the grail and destroy the world, Shirou fought to stop him, even if it meant killing him. In Shirou's mind, saving everyone does not include the villains who tried to kill everyone. In other words, 'Everyone' does not include the villains._

_So Jerad is a villain who will be executed. What is wrong with that? Yes, it is sad that he will die, but he brought it on himself. That is why Shirou does not think it's inexcusable to kill Jerad._

_But what happens when he is the one holding the axe meant to execute him? _

_That is what it tried to lead up to in this chapter. That is what it tried to convey during the entire writing of the chapter. Every time I mentioned 'Hero' or 'justice', it was meant to lead up to the ending. When they spoke of 'Murder' and 'Execution' in the earlier chapter, it was all meant to lead to this!_

_So many things I want to talk about, but the focus is about the ending of this chapter. Love it or hate it, it all depends on you. _

_One more thing, I made a map of Britannia and its countries. The link to my deviantart is on my profile. I know, it's horrible._

_I'm going to sleep now. This chapter has made me emotionally drained. G'night!_

**AOB**

"You're a magus?" Shirou asked, a shiver crawling up his spine like lizard climbing a tree. How had he not noticed that before? He had been standing less than ten feet away from him during the war council, how in the hell had he failed to notice the smell of prana?

No, even now he could not notice any traces of magical energy. Was he truly a magus?

"Oh heaven's sakes, no." Vortimer laughed, his smile lighting up the area like a ray of sunshine. "I'm afraid I was not born with the right aptitude for it. I lacked… I believe the right word for it was magic circuits. An odd word, wouldn't you say?" He said with a snicker.

"But you talk like a magus and you know a lot of terms only a magus would know…" Shirou pointed out, but before he was able to finish the knight in front of him spoke up.

"Only because my mother wanted me to learn in the hopes I would be able to awaken some other form of Magecraft. When she realized I lacked any talent whatsoever she stopped teaching me and spent all her time with my brothers, though they turned out to lack same the talent as well. I assure you, her disappointment was clear to see and she never allowed us to live it down." He spoke up and for a moment his smile faded and his eyes dulled. But the moment was over before he knew it and the smile was back in full force.

"But we can never be our parents and to do so would be a waste of our time, now wouldn't it? Please, ride with me, Sir Emiya." He said as he directed his own horse towards the encampment. Kicking the horse's sides, the knight took off in brisk pace. Shirou followed, copying the movement though he tried to be as gentle as possible in case the horse misinterpreted his command as a sign to start galloping.

Catching up to the blond knight, Shirou was surprised by how at ease the young man was. Despite going to war and not having the experience his older peers possessed, he was almost looked like he was about to go on a vacation instead of war.

"Tell me something, Sir Emiya." Vortimer began. "When my mother tried to teach me Magecraft she always told me one thing at the beginning of each lesson. 'Never show anyone your Magecraft, even if she is your wife and lover', she would tell me. Every magus I have ever met since then has followed that creed, as if letting others know about it means their horrible demise. Everyone except you, for some reason. The first time I saw you, the entire camp was amazed by your ability to create weapons. Why is it that you would show others your craft in the middle of the day when it is the way of magi never to reveal your abilities?" He asked and his face was practically shining with curiosity. It appeared that no matter what kind of expression the man wore it was never done normally. Any action and gesture the man used was always done to the absolute limit, much to Shirou's amusement. Seeing a knight older than him look like a child asking about the meaning of life was quite a funny sight.

"Your mother isn't exactly wrong, Magecraft is a finite resource and the more people know about it the less powerful it is. It's just that the Magecraft I used back then is so elementary that there's no point in hiding it. Even the most incompetent of magi knows how to use reinforcement and alteration." Though knowing and mastering them are two completely different matters. He really needed to get better at alteration, and soon. "It's the first Magecraft most children learn in order to get a proper handle on their magic circuits." Unless your name is Emiya Shirou because then you won't be learning it until you mastered projection which is an even easier branch of Magecraft.

Sometimes he really envied the children in Kiritsugu's stories. Being able to perform Magecraft without spending years practicing the tiniest detail, they didn't know how lucky they were.

"And your Magecraft is reinforcement and alteration?" he said, the unfamiliar words sound odd on his tongue.

"Amongst them, yes." They were in fact his most important skills, but Vortimer didn't need to know that. He had to use some of the secrecy lessons Kiritsugu had taught him. Even if they were allies, it wouldn't do to give away all of his cards at the beginning.

"I see. Thank you for telling me this, it had been on my mind ever since I saw your feats at the blacksmith's. I had never seen someone practice so much Magecraft since I was learning from my mother and it was a… nostalgic experience." The knight said before turning to look ahead. They were nearing the archer's training area now, and Shirou could already see the men practicing their shooting. A small feeling of pride bloomed up in his chest and he had to suppress a smile on his lips.

"Quite the sight, isn't it?" Vortimer said and Shirou looked back to him, unsure of what he meant. "When you can see what your training has meant for your men. When you realize that it is only because of your guidance that they have come so far in their training, it gives you a feeling of accomplishment and pride. Am I right?" He asked and Shirou nodded. He hadn't thought of it before, but the knight was correct. It was the same feeling when he had been able to clean three classrooms all by himself before he had to go home. A feeling of having completed a job well done.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Are you speaking from experience?" He asked in return and Vortimer smiled in response.

"Of course, my lions are my pride and joy! I shudder to think what I might have become if I had not been in a position capable of training them. Every time we are sent out on the battlefield I can't help but feel that they will make me proud. It is actually part of the reason that I wish to speak to you." he said slowly. Shirou frowned at him, once more insecure of what he was supposed to say.

"Okay?"

Vortimer cleared his throat and began to speak. "As you might remember, four days ago Sir William was sent out with a mission. He was supposed to investigate the disappearances of the supplies meant for the Southern Army, but when he had failed to report after three days we sent out a messenger to the villages he was supposed to contact. As it turns out, Sir William and his twenty men left the first village, but never arrived to the second. They left no traces behind, but we did find one of their horses walking the roads without a rider. I'd like to hear your theory of might have happened."

So the knight who was supposed to investigate the disappearances had disappeared? That could mean a lot of things, but if he had to narrow it down to the most likely possibilities then it would be…

"Either Sir William was in contact with whatever had caused the supplies to vanish or he became a traitor and stole the supplies himself. The former is more likely than the latter, but those two are the scenarios I could come up with." The items which had disappeared had been crops, livestock, weapons and gold. All four of them were worth more than usual in times of war. Even a knight might be tempted by the chance to take the valuables and start anew somewhere else. But from what he had seen of Sir William he did not appear to be the type to condone desertion. He was almost stiffer than a plank and despised those who broke the rules. He and Rowland did not get along, at all.

"I'm impressed; it took the knights almost an hour before they even began to think of the possibility of William being a traitor. Though it is as you said, it is more likely he was attacked by those who had attacked the wagons carrying the supplies. The reason we find it hard to believe that he was defeated though is because Sir William was a very skilled knight, head and shoulders above most of his peers. Either he was faced with an opponent whose skill surpassed his own or he was outnumbered or overpowered by unnatural means." He gave Shirou a knowing look and he had to fight not to shiver.

"By 'unnatural' you mean he had to fight a magus?" He asked and Vortimer smiled knowingly.

"Perhaps. The men under Sir William were trained soldiers, men who would not lose to mere bandits and thieves. If William and twenty of his veterans lost then it would mean they faced a superior force beyond their capabilities. Bandits rarely gather in groups of twenty or more in this region and I have not heard any rumors of phantasmal beasts, but until I saw the behemoth called Scarface…" Shirou grimaced when he heard that name. He didn't think Rowland would tell the knights what he had named the warg. Now he felt embarrassed every time he heard that name. "…I had never heard of the wargs either, aside from the bedtime stories my mother told me. Either way, we have no idea what it is except that it is strong enough to defeat twenty-one strong men." He said, his smile never fading.

"And that it's targeting the supply chain." Shirou added and Vortimer nodded.

"That too." He laughed. "The fact that it has a way of selecting its targets means it possesses intelligence and tactical knowledge. All the wagons have disappeared in the forest between villages so it knows where to strike. All in all, a fearsome foe. One I would not want to face alone."

"So what does Ludvig plan on doing about it? Is he going to send the army after it?" Even if the wargs had been at full force, four thousand spears would have been more than enough to wipe out thirty wargs.

"I'm afraid not, though it would have been comforting if it had been the case. Mobilizing the army for such a venture would take time and resources, even if our quarry is nearby. Instead I have been ordered to find the source of the disappearances and end it. The Commander has given me the authority to command a company aside from my lions due to the hazard it has revealed itself to be. All in all, a force of two-hundred and fifty men has been assigned to my command for the mission, though the quality is somewhat lacking." He said, but the smile on his face did not reach his eyes. Shirou knew why.

"If it is a phantasmal beast or a powerful magus then that might not be enough." The wargs were one thing, being the lowest of the low among the phantasmal beasts, but if the entity stealing the supplies was a dragon or similar then attacking it with a mere 250 men would be like giving it a back of popcorn, ready to be popped. If it was a powerful magus then it was safe to say they would have established a workshop in the forest and magi, if anything, were known for creating elaborate traps around their sanctuary.

"You think so too? I told the Commander the same thing and he told me I had been chosen to lead the force because of my knowledge of Magecraft, despite being incapable of it myself. When I told him I was more worthless than even the worst of amateurs he disregarded my words like they meant nothing." Wow, talk about pressure. "Until he told me he was assigning you to my company as well."

Yup, he should've seen it coming.

To be honest, he had actually felt where the conversation had been going. There had to have been some reason as to why Vortimer had wanted to talk to him and when the talk about Magecraft and phantasmal beasts had come up there could only be one reason. What else could be better to combat magi or phantasmal beasts other than a _magus_ who killed _phantasmal beasts_? It still didn't take away the surprise he felt when he found out he had already been assigned to Vortimer's command.

"What?"

"Shocking, isn't it? I thought he was going mad when he was assigning you to my company when he had previously rejected my request for it during the war council. Though I suppose the circumstances are rather dire, since we might be up against something of magical origins. I figured it'd be better if I told you directly instead of letting you find out from old Ludvig. The man's a boar when it comes to tact and just as petty, this way you'd be ready when he springs the order on you the day before we depart." He said apologetically. Shirou sighed in exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ever since their argument in the baron's mansion Ludvig had made it his duty to make life miserable for him. While he would not do anything in front of the troops which would imply hostility between them, order to do odd jobs like cleaning and cooking for the soldiers had somehow found their way into his hands. Ludvig might have thought he would despise those tasks, but Shirou did not mind them. He loved them in fact! It had been the first time he had been able to properly cook since he had arrived in this time period. Rowland had been adamant in not letting anyone else but him into the kitchen and the man guarded the area like wolf guards her cubs. The selfish bastard didn't even let him cook the meat he had caught fair and square! Not even the rabbit he had gone out to hunt in secret just so he could sneak into the kitchen at night had been able to escape Rowland's eagle eyes and had been promptly thrown in a pot under the tavern owner's greedy care.

Prick!

"Thanks for that at least. When are we leaving?" According to Ludvig the invasion was scheduled to begin in four weeks at the most, which meant they needed to finish the task at hand before a month had passed, preferably with time to spare.

"In three days. I need to pick out the men who will accompany me besides the lions and try to coordinate some kind of formation with them. Do you mind if I take a few archers with me besides you?" Three days?

"Not at all, I'd appreciate it in fact. I'd rather not be the only one capable of fighting at long range if we are fighting other bowmen. I think it would be better if you left Hadrian here though, without me they need someone who can help them train." He advised the knight and Vortimer nodded in confirmation.

Three days? That was both waiting too long and not waiting long enough. The soldiers would not be able to learn how to enter formation in just three days and walking into the forest with an unknown enemy when the troops were unable to cooperate was almost certainly suicide.

At the same time they could not afford to wait any longer. The army needed supplies and the Saxons were preparing to launch their invasions. Waiting three days would ensure the enemy had time to figure out what they were doing and prepare their defenses. If they wanted to ensure the opponent did not have time to bunker down then they should march immediately without delay.

Why was it that he always found himself in these 'rock and a hard place'-situations?

"I'll make sure he stays behind then. Very well then, we'll depart at dawn three days hence. Pack lightly and… I hope I do offend you when I say this, but you should consider buying a new pair of clothes. Your current attire is not suitable for battle and some of the other knights will not take you seriously if you dress like a beggar." With that the knight took off, his horse galloping away at speeds Shirou had not achieved since he had tried to ride Skullcrusher.

Did he really look like a beggar? He glanced down at his clothes and for the first time in weeks he was able to notice just how much his clothing had deteriorated. His school uniform had been torn, ripped and frayed to the point that they were no more than several strips attached to each other in a delicate spiderweb pattern. Most of his undershirt had been torn to strips and turned into bandages until it looked like he was wearing a homemade tank top. His shoes were covered in mud and dried blood from the time he stepped in warg blood and were ruined beyond repair. The only article of clothing which looked relatively clean and new was the cloak he had been given by Rowland the first day he got here, which was ironic considering it had been the filthiest and ripped when he had received it.

All in all, he did look a little like a beggar.

He'd have to fix that.

**AOB**

"You do realize you don't have to do this?" Shirou told the archer riding the wagon next to him.

"Of course I do, sir. I simply wish to make sure you are able to make the most of your stay in Shamblefields. As the village's hunter, I am of the unique position to aid you in your venture." Hadrian said as he nodded to the bones and furs in the wagon behind him.

The hides and skeletons of six wargs were strapped down on the wagon. Barrels of fish and ordinary wolves were also a part of the cargo, but the small size of the wooden wagon meant it was nearly full after the wargs had been loaded. They had been able to load another barrel of fish on the passenger seat next to the driver's because Shirou had offered to ride to Shamblefields instead. Seeing as he needed the practice he thought it'd be a good exercise.

"Sure, but don't you need to oversee the training today? Since I'm taking the day off to train my horse riding and you're doing it to help me trade the furs, doesn't that mean the archers have zero leadership at the moment?" He asked warily. He was fairly certain Hadrian had made arrangements should both of them be gone, but he wasn't entirely sure. He had assumed the second-in-command would be staying in the encampment, but Hadrian had simply shown up when he was about to leave. It had been a strange event, seeing the man show up out of nowhere and offering to help him with his business.

Someone in the village must have told him, the archer couldn't have known otherwise. Shirou had been looking forward to spending some time alone from all the noise and chaos that was the army's encampment only for one of his subordinates to show up and bring the chaos with him. Rowland must have informed him thinking it was a funny joke.

"Not quite. Sir Vortimer arrived to recruit a few archers for his mission and mentioned he had your permission to take two dozen men. When he offered to take over the training for the day I accepted. It would give me a chance to visit my home for once, my wife should appreciate it." He explained. Shirou nodded and started to ignore the chatterbox riding the wagon. For some reason, Hadrian had taken to archery like a fish to water and had spent most of his time either practicing with Shirou or asking him about how he learned how to use a bow in the first place. In the beginning it was nice, but Hadrian had somehow gotten it in his head that Shirou was some kind of magical archer and started treating him like one. While Shirou was 'kind of' a magical archer since he used Magecraft and a bow in combination, he was not the sort of archer the hunter was imagining. Any attempt to convince the man had been either unheard or straight up ignored.

If Shirou had to describe Hadrian in one word it would be this: fanatical.

To be honest, the majority of the archers were rather fanatical in that regard. Shirou could understand them to a certain degree. Being told they needed to fight the Saxons who had been preparing for the invasion for years while they were forced to use substandard equipment was almost a death sentence. Even if they were archers and were a distance away from the immediate battle at first, once the Saxons started clashing against the numerically inferior Britons it was only a matter of time before they were next in line.

Then Shirou had appeared, and after killing a large number of magical monsters he had given them magical bows which surpassed anything they had ever used in their lives. According to Rowland, most people seemed to consider it an act of god and rumors had started around the camp. The most absurd, and by far the most popular had been the one where Shirou was apparently the incarnation of an angel sent to repel the Saxons.

Shirou had not been amused when Rowland had told him of that rumor.

The worst part was that Ludvig had endorsed the rumor, pouring gasoline on the already out of control bonfire. He didn't know how the bastard had done it, but he had found an old book where the saints of Christianity had been recorded and _discovered_ a saint which had not been heard of until now. A saint with a name which sounded suspiciously similar to his name…

A saint with a name spelled Shiro Emija, a saint known for saving an army from certain defeat. With a magical bow…

He had confronted Ludvig about it and the knight had not even apologized for creating a fake saint with his name, for the sole purpose of bolstering the army's morale. While the goal was not what he had a problem with, the means Ludvig used to accomplish the goal was a big issue. Especially when it meant using Shirou's name and creating false expectations of him.

Not all the soldiers had believed the rumor however, the knights having already figured out what Ludvig had been planning, but the uneducated and gullible peasants had been fooled. It just so happened to be that the archers were mostly uneducated and quite gullible. Not to mention hopeful…

Anyway, since Vortimer had told him to get some new clothes to go with the title of captain, Rowland had told him to buy them in Shamblefields. Blackbay did not have any tailors or seamstresses to make him any clothing, but Shamblefields still traded with the mainland and received enough fabric to supply a few local stores. Apparently the village had a market every so often and you would be able to buy almost anything you could hope for there, if you had the coin for it. If he wanted clothing that didn't look like he had pilfered them from a corpse then he should buy them in Shamblefields, a ride which took about an hour on horseback. Should he ride over there immediately he should be back before nightfall and if he was quick about it he could even help out the village while he was at it. The farmer needed a few more cows and pigs for his farm and the bakery needed flour for their bread. He could buy their share while he was buying his clothes. What kind of hero didn't help his friends in this kind of situation?

That however brought up the issue of money.

Shirou didn't have any of this age's money… or so he had thought. Thankfully, Rowland had reminded him of the money he had earned by hunting deer and wolves in the forest as well the wargs. Only counting the animals he had caught and Rowland had sold to the merchants traveling through, Shirou had earned a total of twelve silvers. How much he could buy for twelve silvers he had no idea, only that it should cover the clothing he needed at least. From what Hadrian, Rowland, Geoffrey and the old lady by the bakery had said, a good pair of trousers, a shirt, tunic and cloak should never cost more than two silvers. With that in mind he had started saddling up the horse, which he still hadn't named. Much like his bow and arrows.

When Rowland had heard that, he had told him to try and sell some of the warg bones and fur while he was at it. Shirou was reluctant to sell the bones, seeing as they could have magical properties, but had relented on the smaller skeletons. The large specimens had more powerful effects while the smaller ones could barely be called magical. When they were alive and gathered they had been able to remove the heat in a large area and induce a bone chilling cold, but alone and dead? They wouldn't be able to do more than make the air around it slightly frosty.

So with the six smallest specimens and their wolf cousins as well as a few barrels of fish, he had been on his way to the village of Shamblefields to buy a new wardrobe.

Or so he had thought.

"Three silvers!? For just one barrel of half-rotten fish?" The suntanned merchant practically screamed in his face. Spit flew and he felt a few droplets land on his face and he hastily wiped them off with his sleeve. "Are you mad, boy?! You do realize we're a fishing and trading village? That's like asking for an arm and a leg for the air you breathe?!" The merchant in question was a rather muscular man, with tanned skin and white beard. His accent told Shirou he was from either Ireland or Scotland, but he could just as well have been born in the parts of Britannia that borders those countries.

The enraged merchant continued to yell at him for at least three minutes before Shirou was able to get a word in. In those few minutes he had been forced to wipe his face over five times while still keeping an eye out for any pickpockets in the area. Hadrian had said the village was fairly free of crime, but one could never be too sure when it comes to silver and gold.

"First of all, three silvers is the normal price for a barrel of fish in the coastal areas so don't act like I'm ripping you off." He responded and the merchant didn't even have the decency to act surprised. "Second of all, the fish in your area has become sick and you can't fish here until the disease has passed. Third of all, the fish I'm selling was caught this morning and are most certainly not half-rotten!" He said while showing the merchant the insides of the barrel. Silvery white scales covered the different variety of fishes and all of them were of considerable size. "So I think it's safe to say I'm not mad and the price will stay at three silvers."

The merchant chuckled at his reaction. "My apologies, you looked like an amateur in your odd clothing so I figured I could make a nice deal out of you." He stroked his mustache like an evil villain from a move before he continued. "But rather than to spend money on each other's wares, don't you think it would be better to simply trade some of our goods? I have a few items which would be worth more than just a few silvers." He said while pointing at the shop he owned.

This had been his entire afternoon and it had taken a toll on his nerves. The first time he had been given an offer for a wolf hide he had been too caught up in the merchant's pace. The final price for a wolf hide, which was usually worth more than two silvers, had been one silver and thirty coppers. He hadn't realized he had been ripped off until after the transaction was over and the merchant had disappeared into the crowd. His only saving grace had been the fact that Hadrian had not been around to witness his defeat, if not to spare the merchant's life from the death Hadrian had been sure to give him then for the fact that his pride had already been wounded and he didn't think he could live knowing his subordinate and friend had seen it.

Rowland had warned him that merchants were slippery bastards with the ability to go from smooth talker to 'batshit insane' in less than a second. That had been the reason both Rowland and Ludvig had been able to act like old friends just minutes after threatening to kill each other back when Ludvig had returned to Blackbay. They had both been merchants at one point in their life, though Ludvig had given up that life for a knight's while Rowland had been forced to become a tavern owner after the Saxons invaded.

Nonetheless, he had steeled himself for the merchant's quick temper the next time a merchant had approached him for the hides he was selling and had been moderately successful. The wolf hide had sold for two silvers and ten coppers, which was nothing compared to Rowland's record of twenty silvers for a wolf hide in his youth, but it had been an improvement. The barrels of fish had been an even bigger seller once people found out he was selling them, whether it was because people really needed fish or because they thought he'd be easy prey with his young age and weird clothes.

If not for the warnings the villagers had given him he might have lost all control of the stall he had made. Never before had he been yelled at so much in the same amount of time it took to boil noodles. The insults ranged from his appearance and intelligence to his mother's association with donkeys and camels. He had wanted to punch the person who had said that, but he couldn't figure out which one it was out of the twenty or so people who were trying to make him sell at prices which even he knew were laughable.

He had finally decided on a minimum price for each ware he was selling and had never gone beneath it, with the sole exception being the first fur he ever sold. By the end of the day he couldn't be considered to be penniless anymore, even if the money he earned from the fish was to be given to Rowland. Still, that was the smallest earner of all the wares he had brought. The wolf furs had been a moderate success, winter was coming after all and furs were perfect for warmth. The real money spender had been the wargs. It had been the only advantage he had over the other merchants in the village and it had showed. He and Rowland had come up with a plan for the warg furs, what the starting price would be and what the minimum price would be. The customers had never seen wargs before and had been fascinated by the monsters. Though the plan he had come up with had proven to be worthless to begin with. He was supposed to make the starting price at ten silvers, but the crowd around him had begun yelling over each other in an improvised auction. Twenty silvers, forty silvers, seventy silvers, one gold.

The price for the first warg turned out to be seven gold!

By the end of the day only a single barrel of fish remained and Shirou had earned over fifty gold for the warg furs as well as thirty gold for the bones. That was not counting the silvers he had earned from the fish and the wolves. Now he only needed to sell the last barrel before he could buy the clothes he needed.

"What kind of wares do you have?" He asked curiously. This could be interesting.

"The finest spices from the continent, the most interesting of trinkets from Ireland and Scotland, livestock and horses from foreign lands and exotic animals of unknown territories. They are a tad more expensive than your fish, but with the gold I saw you earn earlier I don't think you'll have any trouble buying whatever finds your fancy." He said, opening the door for him.

"So you saw me when I was selling the furs, but you still thought I was an amateur?" Shirou asked skeptically. The merchant snorted, a condescending smile on his face.

"If you were a real merchant you would not have settled on a mere ten golds for the first fur. I stand by my assessment: you are an amateur. A talented amateur, but an amateur nonetheless. Now, would you like to see my wares?"

Shirou hesitated for a moment. He looked to his left and saw Hadrian argue with a merchant about the price of the deer he was selling and then looked at the inside of the shop. He did need to buy the cows and pigs for the farmer and the wheat still needed to be bought.

A quick peek couldn't hurt, could it?

"Okay, what do you have to show me?" He took a step into the shop…

And the smell of spices overwhelmed his nostrils.

Curry. That was the scent, curry. Large barrels filled with the fine, bright powder were lined along the walls. Most of the barrels were sealed tight, but some were old and had cracked and the spice was filling the room with it strong scent. And that wasn't the only thing his nose noticed while he was taking long steady breaths through his nose. Green tea, soybeans, rice and…

No.

Impossible….

He had never been able to drink it himself, due to Kiritsugu's refusal to allow minors to drink, but the smell drafting from the cups his old man and Raiga had been drinking from was unmistakable.

Someone had been able to bring sake to Britannia!

"See something you like?" The merchant asked. Shirou's head snapped to the merchant so fast the old man jumped at the motion. "You okay there? Is there something wrong?" He said worriedly.

So many things, so many spices and ingredients he could find here. How could he not have noticed this place before? How had the merchants been able to move everything here? The journey must have taken months, if not years to reach Britannia. What should he buy? What should he buy the most of? Oh, he would buy a lot of everything, but he needed some kind of system to measure everything.

Barrels! He needed barrels! He could just buy the barrels with curry as they were, no need to change containers. What about the soybeans? He could make tofu with them, or plant them and make even more tofu! He had a wagon in front of the shop, he could easily buy six barrels of whatever it was he wanted, eight if he squeezed one onto the passenger seat like on the ride to the market.

Curry! Green tea! Soybeans! Rice! Potatoes!

Sake?

…

Sake!

"Sir? Is everything alright?" Hadrian's voice broke him from his thoughts and brought him back to reality. The archer had come into the door and was looking at him with worry in his eyes.

"Yeah, of course! I'm fine, just… fine. Is there anything you wanted?" He answered, fighting to keep his cool. He had lost control of his thoughts for a second, the sight of things he had not seen for weeks overpowering his senses. He had never even tasted sake before and the drink had caused a wave of nostalgia to cloud his judgement.

Rowland had warned him not to lose himself in the different wares the merchants across the world had brought, but he hadn't expected them to be from ALL over the world. If this is what a single merchant in Britannia had then imagine what they possessed on the mainland of Europe? The thought of it made his mouth water. He hadn't been able to eat good Japanese food for a while, even when he tried to make the dishes using the camp's kitchen the herbs and spices were so different that they tasted completely different. What he wouldn't do for a good pack of noodles…

Focus! He had to buy the things he needed before he could splurge. The farmer and the bakery had relied on him to help them out. He wouldn't let them down, not now!

"You said you had livestock. Do you have cows and pigs as well, the local kinds?" Somehow he doubted the farmer would be happy if he brought a buffalo back to the farm.

"Depends on what you mean by local. Britannian breeds aren't very valuable on foreign markets so I never buy them. It's a waste of my money, but saxon, Scottish and Irish cattle on the other hand are very popular right now. I stocked up on all three kinds when I was last there and my pens are full of them. Which one is your preference?" The merchant said, amused by Shirou's loss in composure most likely. He was stroking his moustache again, an act which reminded Shirou of Rowland's beard-scratching.

Britannian breeds? Irish and Saxons?

"What's the difference between them?" He had no idea what made them special or popular. Weren't they all just cows and pigs? And why weren't Britannian breeds good on foreign markets? He was about to ask the merchant if he could see them when a silver gleam distracted him. The source of his distraction was a sword with a silver pommel, safely secured in the merchant's belt. That was nothing out of the ordinary, but the sword itself used to…

"Irish cows are good when the grass is poor and Sottish ones are good in cold weather, but saxon cows make more milk when the feed is good and weather is average." Hadrian answered before the merchant had the chance and gave the man an evil glare. "How any man can make deals with the Saxons when they're about to attack is beyond me. It's downright despicable!" He spat.

The merchant didn't seem to register the hatred in his words and simply smiled at the hunter. "Gold is gold, no matter whose hands they used to belong to. I'm just trying to make a living, just like you are. Except my living involves enough wine and women to make any man jealous." He chuckled, his tone condescending. "Why don't you try having enough money to actually buy my wares before you criticize my way of living? I assure you, if you knew what the good life is then you wouldn't be so quick to judge."

Hadrian looked like he was about to punch the man, but Shirou decided to stop their dispute in the cradle. He needed to leave. Fast! "Then I'll take four Irish, four Scottish and three saxon cows. What kind of pigs do you have?" He said loudly, causing Hadrian to stare at him wide-eyed.

"Sir, you can't be serious? This man is no better than a common thief, making deals with the enemy and selling out his fellow men like this! How can you abide this kind of treachery?" Hadrian gaped out, looking reminiscent of a fish. He almost wanted to laugh at the expression, but the circumstances were rather dire. He had seen that sword before, except it had been in the hands of a different man.

"I knew you'd see reason, boy! Eleven cows will be forty silvers and I only have a single kind of pig unfortunately. How many do you want?" The merchant said happily. He snapped his fingers at one of the girls by the wall and she left the room, probably heading for the enclosure meant for the cattle.

"Just five of them, and make sure one of them is a male." The farmer had been very clear on needing a new male pig since one of the other males died from old age.

"Will do, young sir! That will be fifty-five silvers altogether, fifty-two after I take the fish. Oi, you girl! Get five pigs from the pen and lead them to the front. Follow the boy's instructions and get a boar while you're at it." He snapped at another servant girl and the tiny, barely teenaged girl complied.

"Sir, please explain what is happening! You can't be considering making a deal with the man?" Hadrian said, his voice insecure. Watching his Commander make a deal with a traitor was probably too much for the archer to bear. Shirou didn't blame him. He hadn't wanted to buy anything from the man either, but he didn't want to make the merchant suspicious either.

"I'll tell you in a minute, just be quiet." He whispered to the archer and it seemed to placate the distressed soldier for now.

"Where do you wish to take them? I have a wagon to sell if you're interested." He merchant said, his filled with greedy joy.

"That won't be necessary; we'll take the pigs in the wagon and tie the cows to the side of it. Can you tie them up while you're at it please? I need to go and buy some clothes while I'm still here." Shirou said as calmly as he could, desperately fighting to contain the rage boiling up inside of him.

"Absolutely! I wish you have a very profitable venture." The merchant said and was about to leave when Shirou stopped him.

"Is it possible to get your name? I'd like to know who it is I'm making a deal with." Shirou said. The man stopped and made an overly elaborate bow.

"Of course, my name is Jerad of Shamblefields, newly opened merchant in these parts. A pleasure to do business with you." He laughed and disappeared to arrange the cattle Shirou had just bought from him.

"Please sir, can you explain your actions? I don't understand how you could do what you just did." Hadrian's insecure voice came from the tall man. It was unnerving that a man so tall would be upset by what a fourteen year old could do.

"Fine, just keep it down would you?" He whispered, not wanting the merchant to be alarmed. Hadrian nodded quickly. "Alright, you know that Sir William disappeared with his men a few days ago, right?" Another nod.

"And what does this merchant have to do with anything?" The archer suspiciously.

"I don't know yet, but for some reason he has Sir William's sword in his belt."

**AOB**

The ride to Blackbay had been much faster than the ride to Shamblefields. Mostly because it had been the first time Shirou had made the horse he was riding gallop for the first time. Keeping balance had been harder than he had imagined, but most of it was simply nerves. Memories of the last time he rode so fast reappeared and made him lose focus, but he needed to reach the Commander and Vortimer as soon as possible.

Hadrian had stayed behind to take care of the livestock he had purchased for the village and had offered to bring them to the farmer after buying the flour. Shirou had promised to make it up to him, but the man hadn't heard him. After having heard the reasons Shirou had bought the livestock, in order to make himself appear as ignorant as possible, the archer seemed to have rejuvenated the adoration he had for Shirou. Shirou would have felt flattered, but he had more important things to take care of.

Like reporting the incident to the Commander.

"Sir Emiya, what a pleasure to see you!" Vortimer exclaimed when he saw the teenaged archer ride into the camp. "I was just about to see the cooks for supper, would you perhaps like to join me?" he began, but the look on Shirou's face made his tone change. "Has something happened?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure what to do with it. Can I talk with you for a second?" He answered. He didn't know why he was keeping everything as secret as possible. Maybe it was all those spy movies he had seen growing up, but he got the feeling it was best to go about it as quietly as possible.

"Of course, my tent would suffice in that situation. It's just a few hundred meters that way. You can tie your horse to the pole outside. I shall bring you something to drink, you look exhausted." Shirou thanked him and rode off to the knight's tent. He still didn't know how he was going to explain what he saw, but Vortimer was the knight in charge of the disappearances so he would be a good place to start.

Five minutes later he had tied up the horse and taken off the saddle which had been bugging it the entire day. He was brushing the horse when Vortimer returned with a pitcher of water and two mugs.

"I haven't had a late-night visit like this ever since the brothel in my hometown closed down, but I hope that is not why you came, Sir Emiya." The knight said and chuckled when he saw Shirou glare at him. "Oh relax, you look like you needed to calm down so I figured you could use a joke. Think nothing of it, there are plenty of whores around the camp so I'm sure you can get one for yourself after this is over." When Shirou's glare did not recede he capitulated and waved his hands for Shirou to start.

"I was in Shamblefields today…" he began, but Vortimer cut him off.

"To buy new clothes I hope?" The knight said knowingly. Shirou nodded in confirmation.

"Amongst other things, yes. I was just selling my last wares when a merchant approached me and asked me if I wanted to buy something from his store. He had a lot of foreign products, even saxon livestock." Shirou explained and Vortimer frowned.

"Foreign livestock is not uncommon, though saxon cattle is unusual given the times. That is not all, is it? You wouldn't have come all the way over here if a merchant simply had foreign animals on display." He stated, leaning in with curiousity in his eyes. Shirou took a gulp from the water and felt the liquid sooth his dry throat.

"No, I wouldn't. The reason I came here is because he carried Sir William's sword when it was supposed to be lost with the knight." He had seen that sword several times and each and every time he saw it the history of the blade reverberated inside his skull like an orchestra playing several melodies at once. A blade several centuries old, forged by the masters of its time. It had taken countless lives and even fought an ogre twice, the owners barely surviving the encounter.

He would not confuse the sword with anything else on this earth, not when he had seen the blade every day for the last two weeks.

And now it was in the hands of a merchant, after its previous owner had been _killed._

"Are you sure of it? Are you certain it was Sir William's sword" Vortimer asked shocked. The fact that the sword, no, HEIRLOOM of a well-known knight who had disappeared just days prior was in the hands of a merchant not far from here was indeed shocking, even Shirou couldn't believe when he first saw it. He had used Structural analysis on the blade, even though he never needed to do that when it came to bladed weapons! He was sure of it, even the design of the sword was unmistakable. The hilt was decorated with red bands and the pommel was made from silver and held the most beautiful saphire he had ever seen. There was no way he could be wrong!

"Yeah, I'm sure of it. The pommel and hilt were the exact same as the sword William carried and I even used structural analysis on it. You know what structural analysis is, right? It's when you use Magecraft to inspect an item with your eyes." He explained to the knight. Vortimer nodded slowly, as if remembering something he had forgotten long ago.

"Yes, my mother mentioned something like that once, but I could never use it myself. But this is… We need to capture this merchant, immediately! You didn't give him any reason to suspect you, did you?" He asked Shirou, his expression showing he was deep in thought.

"No, I even bought a whole herd of cows and pigs just to make him drop his guard." He stated and Vortimer raised his eyebrows in curiousity.

"How much did he take for it?" The knight asked.

"Fifty-three silvers and a barrel of fish for eleven cows and five pigs." The knight snickered at his words and a small smile tugged at his lips.

"I see he overpriced you for it. Eleven cows should never cost more than thirty silvers and five pigs can't be worth more than three." He said matter-of-factly and took a sip from his goblet of water.

Shirou frowned in anger. He thought he had done a good job in getting that deal, even if he was rushed to get back to the camp. He'd have to get his money back when they returned.

"So what are we going to do now? The merchant might have some connection to the disappearances." He pointed and Vortimer breathed out through his nose.

"I'll call my lions and capture him tonight under the cover of darkness. Merchants tend to sleep in their shops so I'll need you with me to guide me there. We'll bring him to the camp and question him on how he got his hands on the sword. Is your horse capable of riding to Shamblefields again?" The knight who had remained sitting for the duration of their short conversation stood up, his robes following his movement like water following the land.

"She should be, I've been careful not to ride her too hard. As long as we don't gallop there she should be fine." He answered, unsure of how long a horse could actually ride at full speed. Coursers were meant to be ridden for long distances and to do battle. Although it would have been better if the mare had been a Rouncey for that, considering they were bred for their endurance.

"That's fine. It's not like we can simply burst into town, riding like the horsemen of death and hope to catch him napping. Once we reach the village we shall need to sneak in to ensure he doesn't escape, otherwise we'd be back where we started. Get some rest and eat something, I will assemble the men." He said, motioning for the baskets filled with apples and bread. "We'll depart in a few hours, I suggest you rest now so you can be alert during the task at hand." The captain said, exiting the tent with a determined stride. Despite his jovial attitude, Vortimer seemed to be a very capable man. Otherwise Sir Ludvig wouldn't have made the man responsible for the investigation.

He picked up an apple and was about to take a bite when he remembered the horse he had been riding out side. The horse which had only been able to drink water the entire day without anything but the odd patch of grass to eat. The horse which had been carrying his weight without complaints. The horse which had been galloping from Shamblefields to Blackbay without stopping for rest.

Grabbing the basket of apples, he walked out to the horse. The mare had been drinking from the tub of water next to it if the clearly wet snout was any indication and the grass around it looked suspiciously short for some reason. A sense of shame filled his body and he picked up an apple and handed it to the courser. It had barely been in his hands for a second before the horse's jaws closed around the green fruit and munched it to tiny bits. He almost jerked his hand back at the fast movement, but was able to keep still, letting the horse enjoy the tasty apple. Raising a hand to stroke the horse's head, he let the other hand pick up another apple.

"You know, I still haven't given you a name yet." He said to the horse. It didn't respond, not that he expected it to. "I'm kind of bad at it too. Even my bow and arrows don't have real names yet. I can't keep calling you 'horse' now, can I?" He ran his hands though the horse's mane and combed through it.

"So what should I call you?" Shirou had never been good at naming things, most of his inspiration being drawn from sources like VT shows. He still remembered when Fuji-nee laughed at him when he said his dream was to become a hero of justice called 'Justice Guy'. It wasn't like his ability to name things had progressed ever since, considering he had years to name his bow and he had not managed to do it.

That meant his inspiration should change, if anything. Then… mythology? He wasn't very knowledgeable about horses in mythology, but he knew a couple. Let's see…

"Pegasus?" The horse didn't react to the name at all. Yeah, it was a dumb suggestion. Something then, something which didn't make him feel stupid for saying it.

"What about 'Tenma'?" Nothing, the horse simply continued on nibbling on the apple. He sighed, not ready to admit defeat considering he had just begun, but out of silliness. Standing in the middle of the camp and trying to name his horse looked very silly. Thankfully there weren't any soldiers around, but that wouldn't be the case forever.

Unfortunately, Shirou's imagination was not the greatest. He had been told his creative spark did not ignite outside the kitchen, even his teacher agreed that Shirou did not have any talent when it came to art. His attempt to paint a picture of a bowl of fruit had been called 'A brave attempt to recreate the surrealism of Picasso', but he had already accepted his failure at drawing and painting. Likewise during the time the class was supposed to write stories to learn about literature he had failed rather spectacularly. All of his stories revolved around superheroes, every single one of them. The teachers had even agreed that he possessed a one-track mind, an ability to focus utterly on a single object. He had been told to take it as a compliment, but the expressions on their faces told him he shouldn't.

And now his one-track mind was messing up his chance to name the horse he'd be working with for the foreseeable future. Well, if that was the way it would be then who was he to disagree?

"Kuro." He decided. "Your name is Kuro. It's short, easy to remember and it's the opposite of my name. Hello Kuro, nice to meet you!" he said as he stroked Kuro's forehead. The horse made no gesture to let him know if he liked it or not, but neither was she going mad with rage over having been given such a stupid name.

Shirou smiled in relief. To be honest, Shirou's name didn't mean White. It was written with the kanji for 'Soldier' and 'Son', which meant he might have come from a family in the army, if his parents had the same naming sense as he did. It could be pronounced as Shiro though, which actually did mean 'White', which is why he named the horse Kuro which meant 'Black'.

"Good Kuro, we're going to ride out soon so you should get some rest. I'll go get some feed for you.

Feeling proud over his horse's new name, he went out to get some food for it.

Now he only had a bow and arrow left to name.

**AOB**

"Sir Emiya, it's time to wake up."

The voice of Hadrian and the hand shaking his shoulders woke him from his sleep. Blinking his eyes free from drowsiness, he looked up and saw both Hadrian and Vortimer standing inside the tent.

Why was he in a tent? Why wasn't he sleeping in his room? The last thing he could remember was…

Right, the merchant with William's sword.

"Yeah, just give me a minute." He yawned and arched his back, feeling his spine snap several times in a row. "Ah, that felt good!" He sighed.

"Are you awake now, sir Emiya?" Vortimer asked, his voice still jovial, but with a bit of steel in it.

"I am now, are we leaving now?" He needed to saddle up before they could leave. It could take a few minutes if he was unlucky.

"Not yet, but soon. We need to go over the plan first, in case something happens." Vortimer said, spreading out a map of Shamblefields. The shop Shirou and Hadrian had been inside of was in the south-eastern part of the village. Before he could point it out to the knight, Hadrian pressed his finger on the map.

"That's the merchant's shop." He said. Vortimer thanked him for it and placed a red block on the map. It appeared similar to the wooden blocks used in the war council.

"Thank you, now what can you tell me about him?" he asked, looking at both Hadrian and Shirou. Seeing as Hadrian was the inhabitant of Shamblefields, Shirou let him talk first. The archer saw Shirou's nod and began.

"He first appeared a few years ago as a traveling merchant selling livestock and crops as well as exotic spices. He'd stay for a few weeks before he would leave for the continent again to sell what he had bought from us. He wasn't very spectacular in his wares at first, but when he bought a ship from us he began making longer trips and came back with new things every time. It all changed about a month ago when he actually set up a shop here and spent more time in the village. Suddenly his prices decreased and more people visited him for their groceries. He's been earning more and more gold each day ever since." He said and the fury in his voice was as clear as it was on his face.

"And now? Has anything changed in his wares? Something which could belong to one of the soldiers under William's command?" Vortimer's voice was sharp and precise, like a scalpel cutting though flesh.

"No sir, just the normal cattle… actually, now that I think about it, there was one thing that seemed odd. When I walked past his shop I saw he had Britannian cattle in his pens, but he said he never bought Britannian cattle because they aren't worth the money. I didn't think about it back then, but now it sounds a little suspicious." Hadrian said unsure of himself. Vortimer frowned, a look which did not suit the young man.

Shirou understood what he was talking about. While he had not seen the cattle in the pens, he had seen the cows he had bought himself. He had always thought cows all looked the same with little difference. It wasn't until he had seen the livestock he had bought that he understood how wrong he was. The saxon cows looked like the stereotypical cow, black and white camouflage-pattern covering their coat. The Scottish cows however were covered in hair several inches long and had horns longer than some swords he had seen. Irish cows on the other hand didn't even have horns. If Britannian cows were as distinct then it would be strange for Hadrian not to be suspicious.

"It does sound strange, especially considering the cargo which disappeared was in large part Britannian White cattle. If he never bought any cattle then why would he have them in his pens? There's also the fact that he's capable of negotiating with the Saxons in the times right before the invasions. It suggests he's more comfortable with them then he should be, especially when he has the guts to open up a shop in what is about to become a warzone." The expression on his face as grim as the conversation was turning out to be, Vortimer drummed his fingers on the table. "I don't like it. Even if he's not connected to the disappearances, he seems too suspicious to leave alone."

"So what's the plan then?" Shirou asked. "Do we just waltz into the shop and take him to the camp? I don't think I need to remind you that he might have a mystic code if he's related to a magus. The chances of a magus being involved in these disappearances are too high to be ignored."

"I fear you are right in that regard. This is what we'll do: We'll ride out to Shamblefields with a part of the company, but we'll leave a hundred men waiting outside the village. Sir Emiya will climb the rooftops and get a good vantage point, in case he tries to flee. Should he escape our grasp then you will shoot him in the legs, but don't kill him, he has information we need. Meanwhile, fifty men with me in the lead will surround the shop and break in from the front. We'll apprehend the merchant and transport him to the camp where we will begin to question him. Any thoughts?" He asked the two of them. Shirou looked at Hadrian before looking back at Vortimer.

"This might be a stupid question, but…" He began. "…What if he has reinforcements?" The odds of him having reinforcements inside the shop were miniscule at best. Aside from the fact that the shop was rather small, the fact that he and his servants had to live inside the shop ruled out the possibility of him having armed men guarding for intruders.

"In that case we will fight them while inflicting as little harm as possible to the merchant. Should the reinforcements prove greater than we initially thought we will call in the rest of the company to aid us, though I doubt it will be necessary." Vortimer informed them. "Is there anything else we need to go through?"

When neither Shirou nor Hadrian responded, he rolled up the map made from parchment and started walking out of the tent. Shirou followed the knight and Hadrian joined him. As soon as they stepped outside he came face to face with an entire army.

In reality it was just a company, but the effect was much greater then when Shirou had seen the entire company of archers. Men in armor rode large destriers, soldiers in chainmail held large pikes in their hands and archers carried bows and quivers on their backs. Torches were burning and illuminated the entire company in orange light, reflecting off the steel in their armor with pristine splendor. It was an impressive sight, made even more effective due to the fact that they actually looked like soldiers. Many of them wore plated armor while others wore chainmail. Those few who did not wear steel all over their body were covered in leather instead. It was sight for sore eyes when compared to the soldiers Shirou had seen for the majority of his time in the camp.

"Sir Emiya, I do believe this is the first time you've seen the Southern Lions, isn't it? Impressive, aren't they?" He asked and Shirou had to agree. "The Lions will be our main fighting force for the evening, aside from your archers of course. I have very few men capable of using a bow and none of them come close to your men in skill. While the Lions will engage the enemy a close range, you and your archers will keep at a distance and hinder any attempts to escape, are we clear?" He said loud and clear, making sure the archers in the back could hear them.

"Aye aye captain." He said offhandedly, only to realize he had copied Geoffrey's speech pattern. "I mean, yes sir!" Vortimer was his superior, both in rank and status. He had a hard time adapting to the medieval standards, but he could at least make an effort to show the proper respect.

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. I had the men saddle up your horse while you were asleep so I don't see any reason to stall any longer. Let us ride, men!" He called out to the soldiers and received a loud chorus of replies, all saying the same word.

"**Aye!**"

Shirou climbed up on Kuro, fastening his feet into the stirrups made from simple rope. Making a note to actually go to the blacksmith next time he was in Blackbay, he urged Kuro to go forward. The courser answered his orders by walking in a slow pace. That was good, they were in no hurry this time.

"Sir Emiya?" Hadrian said as he walked beside him. That's right, Hadrian was not supposed to be a apart of the company investigating the disappearances. He was to remain with the archers still in training to help direct them.

"Yes?" Should he tell the man to go home? It would be rather rude, wouldn't it? After letting him be a part of the planning only to tell him to go back to the camp, the situation just felt wrong to Shirou.

"I think I shouldn't be a part of this, sir. I fear my exhaustion would only endanger the people around me and I have the training tomorrow to take care of. If it's alright, can I return to the camp?" Hadrian asked. Shirou agreed immediately, not wanting the man to rethink his actions. He sighed in relief when the archer turned to walk to the tent he shared with a hundred other men.

That was almost too convenient. While he would have preferred Hadrian's presence in his first ever military operation, the fact that the man would be in charge of the archers the next day made him too valuable to feel tired in the morning. That he would request a chance to rest by himself was not at all what Shirou had expected. It was… surprisingly logical. The man had been up since the morning like Shirou had, but he had not been able to get a chance to rest a few hours like Shirou had. If Shirou was in his position he would probably have done the same.

But he wasn't complaining. It was good that Hadrian had gone back to rest, his second-in-command had been very useful and deserved it. Perhaps he should get him a gift basket tomorrow? He had certainly deserved it.

"Sir Emiya, is it alright if I ask you a few questions?" Vortimer said as he rode up beside him. Shirou nodded before he spoke.

"You realize you can just call me Shirou, you know? I'm not actually a knight." He said as he adjusted the reins to ride parallel to the knight. Vortimer simply smiled at his words.

"But a magus you are and that has to count for something, especially when you were raised like I was. Being told that people without magic should be subservient to those with tends to leave traces on your character, even if you do not possess magic. But that is neither here nor there and I shall take the opportunity if it presents itself and call you Shirou from now on, if it's okay with you. Now as I was saying, I'd like to ask you a few questions before we arrive at Shamblefields." Shirou nodded and the man's smile faded a bit and was replaced with the look of a military man on a mission.

"What does Jerad the merchant look like to you? I'd hate to arrest the wrong man simply because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time." What did the merchant look like? That was a good question and not one Shirou had thought about. It was obvious for him who had met the man, but for Vortimer he would have to guess on who it was.

"He was not tall, but he had a lot of muscles for a man his size. I'd guess he's a bit shorter than you, but twice as broad. His skin was tanned, like he spent all of his time in the sun and never went inside. His beard was white, as in completely white. Not grey or greying, but as white as humanly possible. It clashes with his skin so he's very easy to pick out in a crowd if you're looking for him. I can't think of anything else, I was more concerned about the sword he was carrying than what his face looked like." He said, trying to remember what else he had noticed about the merchant. He couldn't remember anything else regrettably, his mind had been overwhelmed by the spices the shop had to offer and later by the sword of the late Sir William.

"Not to worry, the description is more than enough to ensure his arrest. Tanned skin is not common around these parts and once we seal off the harbor and confiscate his ship he won't have the means to escape the isle. If he is able to escape us then the people will capture him soon enough. Although it would be better both for him and us if he is captured by the army. Commoners are not as gentle as we are when it comes to apprehending criminals. He'd be lucky to survive if a mob finds him without us to rescue him." He added thoughtfully. Shirou didn't know if he was serious or if he was joking, but said nothing of it. It wasn't like Shirou was going to let him escape, not if he had anything to do with Sir William's death.

"Sir, do you think he'll tell us the truth about where he got the sword?" Shirou asked, unsure on how to broach the real topic he wanted to talk about.

"I'd wager he'll talk the moment we catch him. Merchants aren't known for their bravery, your friend Rowland being the exception." Vortimer answered, a chuckle escaping his lips when mentioning the loud and rude tavern owner.

"And what will happen after he tells us the truth?"

Vortimer didn't answer immediately, instead waiting a moment to reply. When he opened his mouth the tone was grave, like a man forty years older than him was speaking through his mouth. "I cannot say. I'm a knight, but I don't possess the authority to hold a trial. We'll deliver the man to the Commander and leave the man's judgement in Sir Ludvig's hands. As for what the man's fate will be depends on the man's crimes. Trading with the Saxons is not enough to warrant an execution by far, but helping and aiding in the murder of the duke's men? A quick beheading would be the most merciful option."

"I see."

Execution huh? He didn't like it. Death was too final, no going back. On the other hand, if Jerad had been involved in attacking the supply chain then there would be no way to save him. Should he be found guilty of assisting the murder of Sir William then he would have brought it on himself. A hero of justice always tries to protect the innocent, but if there are innocents then there will always be villains. The only question was if Jerad was an innocent person who simply had bad luck in life and a rotten attitude or if he was a villain who truly deserved death.

"Have you ever killed a man, Shirou?" Vortimer asked.

The absurdity of the question made him pause. Of course he hadn't! He had lived in the twenty-first century where murder was illegal and indoor plumbing the norm. Even if he was a magus, killing someone was not something you did unless forced to. He hadn't even left Fuyuki City in the years he had been alive, why would he ever be in a situation where he would be forced to kill someone?

"I can't say I have." He said, unsure of what to say.

Vortimer looked out at the distance. "It's a horrible thing to do. When you're on the battlefield you don't think about what you're doing. All you have is a choice: Kill or be killed. People always choose the option where they will live, not even thinking about what the other option will entail. It's only when the battle is over and you return home that the reality of your actions strike you. That's when you realize that you're actually become a murderer. Have you ever wondered what it is you'll be doing when the Saxons arrive?" He asked Shirou, his expression hard as granite.

"I'll be with the archers, using my bow. Why?" What was he talking about? He'd be defending the people of Blackbay.

"You'll be killing the soldiers invading us, you mean? Even if you don't actually see the light in their eyes die out or their blood covers you as you drive a sword into their guts, you'll be ending their lives all the same. That's what war is all about: murder. Whether you support it or hate it, the moment you step onto a battlefield the outcome is divided into two options. Either you die and let your homeland become ravaged by the enemies, or you kill and ravage their lands in return." The knight who couldn't be older than twenty said wearily. A voice so old and bitter had no business coming from a man not even half the age of Kiritsugu. Shirou's father had sounded just like that when he was the Magus Killer. Old, battered, eroded and brittle, Vortimer had in a single sentence aged more than fifty years.

"I don't think it has to be that way." Shirou said. Vortimer's head snapped to him and the aged tiredness in his eyes almost made him flinch. "I think there is a way for people to become happy. If there isn't, then I'll just have to create one." Shirou stated confidently.

That had been Kiritsugu's dream, a dream he had given to Shirou to fulfill.

Vortimer smiled and the tiredness seemed to fade away somewhat. "I hope you can, Shirou, but the fact remains that you will need to be able to kill if the war is to be won. If we meet heavy resistance and we are forced to do battle, can you promise me that you will go for the kill should you have the chance?" Vortimer's eyes locked onto Shirou's and he was reminded of the dead look Kiritsugu had sometimes after he told Shirou of his work.

"I promise." If Kiritsugu had done it to fulfill his dream then Shirou would eventually have to do it too. For a world where everybody could be happy, he would become the Hero of Justice.

That didn't mean he would kill if he had another choice.

"Thank you Shirou." He shook his head and when he stopped the jovial look had returned. "Now I do believe you said you would buy some clothes, but I don't see them." He chuckled in amusement. Shirou groaned at the reminder, having actually forgotten about the reason he had gone to Shamblefields to begin with.

"I'll try again tomorrow if I find a store which has clothes." He said simply. That is if he had the energy to get out of bed the next day. He made no promises.

"I'd ask the seamstresses for a custom made outfit. Ordinary clothes might work for everyday activities, but when you're going into battle you might want to splurge on the thing covering your body. Loose or tight clothing is a death sentence on the battlefield." Vortimer advised.

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"You could also get a woman much easier if you don't look like you beg coppers for a living." Vortimer added teasingly.

This was going to be a long ride.

**AOB**

The entire 'operation' was over almost disappointingly fast. The soldiers surrounded the house while he climbed the buildings. He got into position and waited while the soldiers broke into the shop. A woman started screaming when they broke down the door, but she stopped when they explained who they were. The merchant on the other hand had tried to escape through the window on the upper floor, sneaking on the roof of the entrance. He seemed almost experienced at sneaking out of windows by the grace he showed.

*THUNK*

An arrow penetrating his hand stopped him from going any further. When the soldiers heard the merchant's cries of pain they stormed the upper floor and searched the rooms. It took them a few seconds before they actually looked out the window and saw the short man pinned to the wall by an arrow through his hand and several through his clothes. When it seemed like they had ahold of him he dismissed the arrows into the prana they were made of.

The soldiers put old fashioned shackles around his wrists, a far cry from the handcuffs he had seen in the twenty-first century. Putting a bag over the man's head, the men led him out and put him on a wagon which began to move out of the village.

The entire arrest took about ten minutes from entering the village to seeing the wagon with the suspect roll away.

"Excellent work, Shirou. I'd say I couldn't have done it better myself, but that would imply I would actually be able to do what you just did myself." Vortimer said, looking at him from the ground. Shirou still hadn't jumped down, mostly because he was keeping an eye on the shop. If the merchant had accomplices then they might still be in the house, waiting for a chance to escape.

"Thanks, but I couldn't let him walk away from this." He said, upset by what he had seen. The merchant had tried to escape when they burst into the house. That implied he had something to run from which in turn implied he had committed a crime which the punishment for was enough to run away from. Things weren't looking good for the merchant.

"You had been hoping you were wrong about him then?" The knight questioned.

"I had been hoping he was innocent and would be happy to tell us what he knew. Him trying to run… implies something else." He said bitterly.

"Aye, it implies guilt. But we've done our duty and it's time to return to the camp. Come on, we shouldn't be here when the village wakes up." Vortimer said as he returned to his horse, a brown courser.

"I'm on my way." Shirou said as he jumped down from the roof. The mud beneath him was soft and his shoes sank down to his ankles. Cold water assaulted his feet and he cursed in surprise. A shiver went up his body as the difference in temperature was registered by his brain. Laughter was heard from the men around him as he ripped his feet out of the mud and tried to remove the mud as much as possible.

"And that is why you always wear boots in Britannia." Vortimer said amused from his seat on the horse. Shirou growled, not seeing the fun the man was somehow seeing.

"I'll be sure to take your advice to heart. Wouldn't want to get mud all over my feet, would I?" he said sarcastically. The knight laughed at his words.

The clanking of pots from the shop alerted him to the possibility of enemies and his he turned to the source of the noise. His hands tensed around the Fae-bow and he was ready to trace an arrow to fire.

A tiny girl, barely older than him, peaked out of the window. She wore old clothes stained with soot and dirt, showing her position as a servant in the household. She was holding a pot in her hands, akin to how a soldier would hold a shield and she was staring at them with fear in her small doe-like eyes. Another noise marked the arrival of another person, though this was a woman older than the servant by at least ten years. The teenaged woman ushered the small girl away from the door before trying in vain to close the broken door. In the end, all she accomplished was breaking the door even more to the point that it fell on the ground in a loud bang.

"The merchant's wife and the servant of the household." Vortimer said when he noticed Shirou's look. "Though I wager she won't be married to him for long. If the merchant is sentenced to death then she'll have to find a man to represent her in legal matters. Hopefully she has a father to rely on since a woman can't own a merchant's shop. In any case, there's nothing we can do here. Let us leave." Vortimer said as he started riding away, the horse trotting away moments later.

Shirou stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do, but before he knew it he was walking over to the shop. Picking up the broken door, he inspected the damage and began to fix it. Even when the merchant's wife walked into the room again and saw him he simply apologized for the noise he made and got back to work.

An hour later he left, knowing that the door wouldn't be a problem at the very least.

**AOB**

"What are these?" He asked, looking down at the bundle of clothes in his arms.

"They're clothes; you wear them on your body." Ludvig said dryly. Shirou frowned at his answer.

"I can see that, but why are you giving them to me?" He asked once more. It was weird for Ludvig to do him any favors. It felt suspicious… and odd. Ludvig wasn't nice, plain and simple.

"Because you've been wandering around in your rags like a beggar, acting like you don't know what proper clothing is. It's making the men wonder if you're really a saint if you're covered in filth day in and day out." The Commander said and the knights around him snickered in response. Even Rowland had a chuckle at his expense.

It was obvious not a single person in the war council thought he was a saint, including him.

"And you want me to wear these clothes to convince them I'm a saint?" Shirou stated, shocked at the man's nerve.

"No, that would imply you had the ability to act like any worthless numbskull who joined the idiocy that is the theatre. I simply want you to look like a saint would if a saint was indeed among us. The men will do the rest of the work for you. There is no better fuel for morale than a man's own imagination." The Commander said with a tone which brooked no argument. "From now on you'll wear those clothes every time you are seen by the men, otherwise the mindless masses might think you're not actually the godsend they think you are."

"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate you?" Shirou said as he put the different articles of clothing in his lap.

"Repeatedly. Now tell us what you have found out from last night's excursion." Ludvig said and the War council commenced.

It was morning and the day after they arrested the merchant Jerad. After fixing the door to the merchant's shop he had gone back to the tavern to get some sleep, but rest had been hard to find. Thoughts of what would happen to the family of the merchant flowed around in his head like a nightmare which kept repeating itself. In the seven hours or so he had been lying in bed he had at most been asleep for two. He was therefore rather irritable and Ludvig's attitude had not helped his mood.

"Of course, Commander." Vortimer said. He brought out a piece of parchment from his robes and after a quick look he began to talk. "Unfortunately the news I bring are not what you had been hoping for…"

"Just get it over and done with. We're not getting any younger." Ludvig interrupted the younger knight. Vortimer coughed and continued.

"Right, of course. Last night we apprehended a merchant called Jerad who was suspected to be involved in the disappearances of the supplies and Sir William. Sir Emiya had been able to recognize the sword Jerad was carrying as the same sword William owned. After a quick investigation we discovered that he might be trading with the Saxons and that he possessed Britannian cattle despite him claiming that owning such cattle is a waste of money and that he would never buy them as such. Since a large part of the cargo that went missing was Britannian White cattle, we decided to take him in for questioning." He paused for a moment and everyone in the room, including Shirou leaned in to hear what he had to say.

"And? Out with it, boy!" Sir Edmund snapped.

"Where do I start? First off, he had made a deal with King Mark of Cornwall to smuggle Cornish troops into Albion. Once inside, the troops would attack the supply chains and weaken the army. The supplies would be given to Jerad who would either sell them back to Albion or ship them to Cornwall." Vortimer stated simply, earning himself the shock of everyone in the room.

"Cornwall? Why would Mark weaken us right before the Saxons arrive? He knows he'd be the next in line to be invaded." One of the younger and less experienced knights asked, making the entire assembly in the room look at him like he was an imbecile. Even Shirou knew the answer to that.

"Because if the army is destroyed and the Saxons are already exhausted by the invasion, Mark will be able to take over Albion with ease. The only problem with that plan would be that neither Britannia nor Ritho would stand by and let him take all that land for himself? Why would he suddenly have the stones to invade us now?" Ludvig said explanatory. The young knight simply bowed his head in shame and embarrassment.

"Jerad had an answer for that as well. It seems Mark has allied himself with the king of Ireland, Anguish. He's betrothed to the king's daughter, Isolde, and once they're married they will attack Albion in full force. Mark has promised Anguish Rheged as long as Mark is made king of the rest of Britannia." Vortimer said grimly. His eyes were dark and bitter, nowhere near as full of life they usually were.

Ludvig nodded understandingly. "Ireland and Cornwall has joined their forces… And the good news?"

"I'm not done with the bad news, sir. Jerad made a deal with the Saxons as well. In exchange for gold he would supply the warchief with information on our numbers and positioning. He had been ordered to poison our wells before the invasion as well, but thankfully we caught him before he could begin." The fact that the man had betrayed them to yet another enemy seemed to make most of the knight reel back in surprise, but those few who had already suspected made no motion to react. Shirou had suspected it from the start and Ludvig had been smart enough to figure it out. Sir Edmund had not been so composed.

"The snake even went so far as to aid the Saxons? Has he no decency in his body?" The Field Marshal said, outraged by the man's treachery. Vortimer motioned for him to calm down before he continued.

"Seeing as the bad news are over, I'm going to start on the good news. Our wells are free from poison, thanks to Sir Emiya's keen eyes, and we now know the location of the Cornish troops as well as their strength. According to Jerad, the force inside the western forests numbers around a hundred infantry and fifty knights. Those numbers are based on how many soldiers he had personally smuggled into our lands so they may vary. I'd wager the actual number is closer to a hundred by now." The knight finished his report before he tucked the parchment into his robes.

The tension in the room was overpowering. He had known the man had been guilty, it was hard not to. He had held onto the hope that it was a simple mistake, but with this it was clear that the man was guilty of treason. What would the man's punishment be? He had not actually killed someone, but he had smuggled the soldiers who had. Selling military secrets to the enemy was also rather condemning, especially right before an invasion by said enemy. He hated to say it, but Jerad the merchant was probably going to die. Death caused by his own greed and arrogance.

"So we have an invasion by the Saxons who know of our forces and will most likely be prepared for our formations, the allied forces of Cornwall and Ireland are on their way to attack us and a company of Cornish troops in our lands who are disrupting our supplies. Not only that, but our most experienced knight is dead as well as his most skilled men. Am I the only one who feels we're dead already?" The same knight who had been embarrassed by his naivety earlier spoke up. Only this time he was not alone in his thoughts.

"Before we lose our heads like a bunch of chickens, we should consider our next step. The Cornish troops who have been attacking our shipments must be eliminated. Sir Vortimer, you have my permission to recruit an additional hundred men to your company. That should bring your total forces to three-hundred, am I correct?" Ludvig spoke, his voice as calm as if he had not received such bad news.

"Three-hundred and fifty, sir." Vortimer corrected. Ludvig narrowed his eyes in disapproval.

"Yes, your 'Lions' are another fifty. Very well Vortimer, I order you to enter the western forests and eradicate the vermin which has taken nest there. Perhaps you will make your father proud for once." He said coldly. Vortimer simply nodded in understanding. Ludvig then turned to Shirou and barked out his name.

"Emiya!"

"Yes sir." Shirou responded. Ludvig might look calm and collected, but for some reason he looked even more furious than when he had Rowland had been fighting.

"Have you ever killed a man?" Ludvig asked and Shirou froze. What?

"No… sir?"

"Then there is no time like the present, isn't there? Your orders are to execute the traitor by means of beheading immediately after the council is over after which you will accompany Sir Vortimer in his task." Ludvig said and every word he spoke was like ice. Pure cold was seeping into Shirou's bones like nothing he had ever experienced before.

"Sir?" Vortimer asked and even he looked uncertain as to what he should say. Not even Sir Edmund, the Commander's most vocal supporter, could find the proper words to say.

"I will not have an unbloodied magician in my army when the invasion commences. He will execute the traitor and that is the end of it. Sir Vortimer and Sir Emiya, you are excused." The commander said with finality in his voice. He motioned for them to leave, Shirou only doing so out of sheer reflex. Gripping the clothes in an iron grip, he left the tent.

Beheading.

Never before had he hated the Commander so much as he did at this very moment.


	11. Preparations

**Another chapter, another day. It hasn't been that long since I last posted a chapter, but here it is! Chapter 11, fresh off the boat!**

**Don't have much to say about this chapter so I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to focus on other things I want to say. First of all; I changed my Author name. It used to be Goat13, but it had been so long since I actually used that name on anything but FF so I figured it was time to change. **

**Second of all; have you taken a look at the map I made with paint? It's on my profile so if you're curious, go take a look.**

**That's all folks, enjoy your reading!**

* * *

"I have brought my report, Milady." Josephine asked as she entered the throne room. As the attendant and Servant of the kingdom's foremost magus, Josephine knew enough about the etiquette the nobles were so eager to hide their emotions behind, but she was never any good at it beyond the occasional conversation. That was the primary reason she tried to shy away from the throne room at all times, with the exception of answering her lady's summoning.

The throne room was massive, a testament to Rheged's architectural prowess. While the color was not anything special, a grey rock of common variety, the design was most impressive. Tall pillars stretched towards the roof, tapestries and shields covering the dull stone. What should have been nothing more than a lifeless stone hall during the time of King Urien had been transformed into a canvas of color after his two wives rose to power. Vivid red illuminated the eastern walls as the domain of Queen Rowena while dark blue tapestries on the western walls represented Lady Morgan.

To think, just ten years ago they would have been trapped in the grasp of the Mad King Urien and now they were spending their days in a relative paradise. If only they had realized the inherent flaws of the male gender earlier. Maybe Britannia would have been united and at peace by now.

"Yes, it appears you have. Rowena, you remember my attendant right? Josephine is in charge of our correspondence with your former husband's knight." Lady Morgan said to the queen sitting on the throne in the hall.

"Yes, I remember." Queen Rowena grumbled, but even such an inelegant thing sounded more like the songs of an angel to Josephine. Queen Rowena was the most beautiful and fairest maiden of all, everything she did, regardless of the significance of the activity, was more dazzling and charming than anything Josephine had ever seen, barring Lady Morgan of course. "Tell me Josephine, what is my former husband failing at now? We went through the effort of poisoning the water and food supply without the Saxons noticing, what else could he possibly need?"

The queen was justified in her anger, Josephine knew it. Despite having been betrayed by her husband and son, she was now forced to come to their aid. Queen Rowena's heart was truly beyond bursting with compassion and love, but it was wasted on those who did not appreciate it. The duke of Albion did not deserve her help, not after what he did.

"There has been some troubling news from the south, Your Highness. The army is progressing somewhat, but a spy for the Saxons and the Irish has been apprehended. It appears the Saxons have been paying a local merchant to spy on their army and to poison_ their_ water and food supply. He was caught before that could happen, but he was interrogated and revealed that he had been smuggling in Cornish soldiers to weaken the Albion forces from within their borders. Apparently Mark of Cornwall has struck an alliance with Ireland in exchange for the third princess' hand in marriage." Josephine spoke calmly. She hated large halls when she was out in the open, where anyone could see here. It was not a suitable environment for a spy like herself. She always kept to the shadows, ready to listen and observe. She was not accustomed to be listened to and observed in the emptiness of the throne room.

"I fail to see why this is so important? Cornwall has always been close to the Irish and it was only a matter of time before they joined forces. Although I'm not surprised Vortigern did not realize it sooner. He was always too focused on the glory on the battlefield to develop any sort of spy network." Queen Rowena said, a bitter smile on her face and Lady Morgan chuckled in agreement.

Even something so manly as chuckling was as sweet as honey when it came from Lady Morgan's delectable lips. How the gods had managed to create two perfect women so close to each other was beyond Josephine's ability to comprehend, but she was not complaining. Simply basking in the Queen's and Lady's radiance was more enjoyable than seeing the sun after traveling the Nevermoon Forest for a month.

"That… is only part of my report, Your Highness. The reason I didn't wait until it was night to return is due to the second part of my report." Josephine said awkwardly. She had no idea on how to break the news, not after she had messed up as badly as she had. For weeks she had disregarded the newcomer to the Southern Army as Sir Ludvig's pitiful attempt at raising morale, but it had been a mistake on her part.

"Oh? And what is it that made you act with such urgency then?" Morgan asked, her harmonic voice putting angels to shame.

"Ludvig… was able to recruit a magician somehow…" she spoke quietly, looking down in shame.

"What?" Queen Rowena asked, and her voice sounded like the battle cry of a thousand vengeful angels despite not being louder than a whisper. Josephine flinched at the tone, knowing that her blunder had been the reason for the queen's sweet melody to turn into a storm of rage.

"There had been rumors in the camp, about a boy capable of wielding magic to slay hundreds of wolf-like beasts called wargs…" Josephine started, but Queen Rowena interrupted her.

"Vargar, you mean? My father brought them to Albion when he invaded fifteen years ago in order to weaken the country, but they never left the forest. You mean a single magus killed the entire pack?" The Queen said and The Lady seemed curious.

"Vargar?" Lady Morgan asked. "I've never heard of them before. Any reason you failed to mention them to me?"

"They were useless beyond compare. The baron of Blackbay came to the duke for help in eradicating them, but I put a spell on him to disregard any attempts to hunt them down. Despite that, they never left the forest and kept feeding on a single village without destroying it for over fifteen years. There wasn't any reason in mentioning them, not after the waste of resources they turned out to be." The Queen answered swiftly and The lady seemed satisfied. "Go on, tell us more about this magus you've encountered."

"At first I dismissed it as Ludvig's attempt to boost the troops with courage, but as time passed the rumors grew. This alone is not strange, but the rumors were so feverish and specific that I sensed there was something strange about them. Some were about a saint while other about a demi-god, but they all seemed so very specific about what the person they were about was like. After that I discovered that the was actually a magician in their midst, a young boy barely a decade and a half in age. From what I could tell he could definitely use magic, but it was nothing compared to what you are capable of, Your Highness, Milady." She spoke quickly, a desperate to quell their anger before it appeared.

"How very interesting." Lady Morgan said, a smile on her face. What Josephine wouldn't do for the chance of seeing that smile just once a day. Her assignments took her far away for long periods of time and she could sometimes go for months without seeing even a trace of her mistress. She had lost count of how many times she had paid whores on the streets to wear a black wig and smile at her, just so that she could have a slight glimpse of the face she adored. The whores were nothing compared to the real thing though, an insulting mockery at best so she had been forced to kill them to restore her Lady's honor. It was a crime to think some women of the street could even hope to replicate her Lady's excellence, but she knew she was not alone in her attempts to bask in her mistress' beauty.

She had seen the captain of the Royal Guard enter a brothel with a woman with crimson hair set in the same way as the queen. The Captain had entered with the obvious whore, but had emerged alone, cleaning blood from her clothes. It was a good thing the brothels imported slave women from other kingdoms, otherwise Rheged would be facing a serious lack of whores in the near future. Castrated males would work too, if they were gelded in their youths. Older 'Geldings' would have far too masculine features to pass for The Queen and The Lady.

She'd have to speak to the Captain soon. Between Josephine's whore-stabbing and Isabel's whore-beating, the brothels would ban them from their establishments soon. Maybe they could set up a schedule to prolong the use of their services before they were banned. The longer time it took before Josephine would have to use geldings for her sexual needs, the better.

"So what did you make of this boy, Josephine? Did he have potential? Could we recruit him to our cause or should we get rid of him as soon as possible?" Lady Morgan asked, her bewitching purple eyes gleaming with wonder. Oh, how Josephine longed to see those eyes look at her like that. She always had that curios glint in her eyes whenever something fascinated her, but Josephine had only seen it when something new and interesting arrived. Never had that indication of interest been directed towards Josephine, her loyal Servant.

Shame on her! She was getting ahead of herself. Just because she had earned the title of Servant as the Lady's spymaster did not mean she was worthy of gaining the Lady's attention. Only a woman of equal status could ever have the chance to ask for Lady Morgan's hand in marriage. In all the lands Josephine had been to, the only woman she had seen who qualified for that position had been Queen Rowena. In a way, the only person who would be able to survive the jealous hordes of whoever married Lady Morgan or Queen Rowena would be Lady Morgan or Queen Rowena. Anyone else was sure to be assassinated for daring to lay their filthy hands on the mortal goddesses.

"I believe he is of no threat to either of you. Aside from his age and inexperience, his magic seems to be far less diverse and flexible. The rumors about him exaggerate his prowess in battle more than any magic ever could. They say he defeated a hundred wargs…" she stopped when The Queen cleared her throat in annoyance."…A hundred vargar I mean, but I found no more than six pelts from the beasts. They said he could create weapons for an army just like Jesus Christ could create enough fish and bread for his people, but all he did was shape the materials he already had. I believe my earlier assumption of him being used as a puppet to boost morale is more correct than I first believed, even though he was made the captain of the archers." Josephine said, partially out of truth and partially out of spite towards the brat. The boy had the gall to take Lady Morgan's attention for his own. She'd make sure he paid for his insolence.

"A puppet you say?" Queen Rowena mused. "A puppet could do more damage than his owner ever could if he suddenly desires to break free from his strings. From what you've seen, can you tell me whom he's been associating with. Wrong influence can be devastating."

"From what I've gathered he appears to spend a lot of time with the villagers of Blackbay, a small fishing village in the norther parts of Albion. Specifically the owner of the tavern, Rowland, and one of the fishermen, Geoffrey. He also spends some time with his second-in-command, a hunter called Hadrian from the neighboring village. Those are the only people I know he associates with, although…" she hesitated, not sure of how she was meant to deliver the next piece of news.

"Yes, Josephine?" Lady Morgan's sweet voice caressed her mind like silk on skin, quickly eroding any thoughts she might have had on the matter. Whatever fears she had about relaying her report disappeared, as there was no need to worry about The Queen losing her temper. "What did you find, my sweetling?"

"Before I left to deliver my report, I overheard a conversation between Sir Ludvig and his knights." Josephine said in a bubbly and intoxicated voice. "The boy was to be assigned to the company meant to eradicate the Cornish forces attacking the supply chains. The company in question was led by Sir Vortimer of the Southern Lions and…" She would have continued, but Lady Morgan had stepped in to stop her, putting a delicate and pale finger on her lips. Any attempt to speak was immediately discarded in favor of trying to absorb Lady Morgan's taste though her lips and inhaling her scent though her nose. Hints of rosemary, strawberry and ginger invaded her senses like a tidal wave of spices.

'_I'm touching Lady Morgan! I'm actually kissing her finger! What should I do?!'_

It was sad to say that in all her years of serving The Lady, she had not actually touched her more than a handful of times. It was nothing special, sometimes she would hand a letter over to The Lady and their fingers would brush against each other. Other times she would be rewarded with a pat on the cheek, like a child being rewarded by her mother in a gentle caress.

But this was more than that! This was intimate, an act normally only preformed on lovers. That Lady Morgan would do something so obvious was… was…

Absolutely amazing…

"I believe you've given your report, dear Josephine. Maybe you should go get some rest? It must have been a hard journey, to cross all of Britannia in just a day. Most people would consider it impossible." Lady Morgan whispered in her ear, the hot breath hitting her skin like the fire of a dragon.

"Yes, Milady." She swallowed. She did not dare to speak any further, fearing words would fail her. She could not say she had used the magical artefact Lady Morgan had given her, capable of unleashing winds to drive her small fishing vessel along the coast until she reached Rheged. She wouldn't be able to get anything other than whimpers and unintelligent sounds out if she tried.

Bowing to The Queen and The Lady, she excused herself from the throne room. As soon as she left the great hall she made a beeline for the nearest brothel. She needed release, now!

If only she had remembered to bring the black wig with her. It looked like whatever whore would be serving her this evening would live to see another day.

**AOB**

"When will that child ever cease to get in my way?" Rowena asked out loud when the Servant had left. How such a weak-willed girl was able to reach the highest rank of spy and claim the seat of Servant was beyond her, but the girl did her job at least.

"He has become a thorn in our side lately, hasn't he?" Morgan mused, picking up a silver goblet filled with wine and sipping from it. "First the boy dethrones his father to exile you and now he might have a magus under his command. I'd be impressed by his ambition if I wasn't so interested in this boy she was talking about." The Lady of Rheged spoke with interest. She was always picking at things she should leave alone, but Rowena couldn't blame her for that. It was a magus' duty to explore the unknown, but for once Rowena did not share her sister-wife's enthusiasm.

"Interested? You do realize that bumbling fool will have a magus under his thumb after the war is over if we don't get rid of him. I absolutely refuse to allow another magus to set foot in what used to be my workshop!" she whispered furiously. The thought of being driven out by that arrogant knight she called son, only to hear the brat had welcomed another magus with open arms made her seethe with anger. That precocious little hypocrite!

"Would you give it a rest already? I'm fairly sure you've already paid Vortimer back in full for what he did. Even if he survived the hemlock you tricked him into eating, he was still bedridden for a year and his father was able to reclaim the throne. Shouldn't you be happy at least one of your children is alive, even if you are the one who killed half of them?" Morgan asked mischievously. Her tone was lighthearted and soft, but the barb was not missed on Rowena. They might have been 'friends' for decades and plotted to take over Britain together, but the balance of power between magi was ever-present.

"I'd be happy if one of them was capable of using magecraft, and even happier if it was a girl. Instead all I got from being married to that fool for thirty years was eight bumbling sons incapable of even the most basic of thaumaturgy. Not even the bastard I had with the field marshal was capable of Magecraft!" she ranted, gripping the armrest of her throne hard enough to make the wood creak in protest.

"Oh, would you relax? It's been fifteen years already and we have more important things to take care of. For example, the boy magus who is under your son's command. What will we do about him? I actually want to bring him here for a bit. Mordred is feeling a bit lonely and I think a friend would cheer him up." Morgan said whimsically. Rowena raised her eyebrow in amusement, anger put on hold in favor of listening to whatever Morgan had to say about her mysterious son.

"I can't imagine why, between the way you have him isolated in his fortress and being forced to wear that cumbering armor everywhere he goes I thought he'd have all the company he could ask for." Rowena joked and Morgan laughed, a harmony of sounds unlike anything the mindless masses would ever be able to replicate.

"My thoughts exactly, but I guess he's just growing up and finding himself. Boys his age will always be rebellious, unless you have them castrated early of course." She said.

"An act you have refused to perform on Mordred for some reason." Rowena pointed out and Morgan smiled, a foxlike grin spreading across her face.

"Mordred is a work in progress, so to speak. I'd hate to act too early and receive unripe fruit. I'm sure he will mature beyond my expectations and make me proud, but I need him unspoiled for that. I'm sure you understand _Queen Rowena._" Morgan said with sarcasm in her voice. Rowena smiled bitterly and responded.

"Of course, _Lady Morgan. _Now, as you said, we need to do something about this boy_ after_ the invasion is over. I'd rather not spend more potions in ensuring the invasion fails than necessary and the boy might just be the edge they need to spare me the effort in creating more. I suggest we get rid of him, preferably immediately afterwards the attack is over. It wouldn't be too hard to make it look like an injury sustained from battle and the assassins are always eager to work." She said to move the conversation forward. Despite Rowena being the Queen of Rheged, it was still clear that Morgan and Rowena were equal in status. Rowena only gained the title of queen because she was from an actual royal line among the Saxons whereas Morgan was from a noble one. Had their births been different then their roles would have been reversed.

"Must you be so hasty, dear Rowena? From what Josephine told, us the boy is barely capable of the most basic of Magecraft, barely a threat even. Wouldn't it be more interesting to see what happens to the lad, especially if he arrives in your former husband's domain? There are, after all, so very few of us in these lands and what harm can a boy do without a teacher to guide him?" The Lady reasoned and Rowena entertained the thought. The number of magi in Britannia had decreased, this much she knew even if she was originally from the Saxon lands in the south. Female magi had been hit especially hard, with the accusations of witchcraft being the foremost cause of death. That meant the magic bloodlines were decreasing, resulting in far too many marriages being of incestuous nature in order to preserve the magic circuits in the family. Perhaps the boy would be good for the local bloodlines, a breath of fresh air in the stale cesspool some bloodlines had become. But…

"I'd prefer it if the magi in our land were to increase instead. Allowing a hostile country to gain control of a magus isn't what I'd call a good idea." She pointed out and Morgan pouted.

Yes, she actually pouted.

Not the childish version you'd expect when you hear the word 'pout', but a more mature and yet equally impressive expression which made Rowena sigh in frustration.

"Why on Earth are you so fixated on the boy? I'm sure there are plenty of inexperienced youths who would love to earn the interest of Lady Morgan, so why would a single country bumpkin whom you've never met warrant such a reaction?" she asked perplexed. She had seen Morgan act the same way a few times, but she had never been able to understand why. The objects of her fascination were always so random and peculiar it didn't make sense to her.

"It's because I knew for a fact that not a single magus lived in Albion up until now and my spies have kept a close eye on all the borders in Britannia. Whoever this boy is, the fact that he appeared from thin air is enough to interest me. If Mordred gains a playmate then who am I to complain about it?" she said offhandedly.

She monitored all the borders in Britannia? That was quite the achievement, but somehow Rowena was not surprised. Morgan had been quite ambitious when she trained her spies and she had succeeded in her efforts. Rowena commanded the majority of the army, but Morgan had complete control over the spies in the country. It was one of the reasons their partnership had lasted as long as it had and would most likely last long in the future. If they tried to wrestle control from one another then the ensuing battle would destroy them both. Neither wished to lose so they had worked on their cooperation until the friction between them had been reduced to nothing but a slight jab or barb here and there. Why, their 'friendship' could almost be called genuine by now.

"As always we disagree on the most basic of things, but I'll let you keep your pet project for now. I leave the boy's fate in your hands, although I hope you will dispose of him if he fails to keep your interest. A magus in Vortigern's hands is not something I look forward to hearing about." She said as she picked up a goblet of wine and drank greedily. She let out a wistful sigh as she felt the cold alcohol drench her dry throat. She still had to look over the kingdom's finances and the never-ending amounts of parchment she needed to oversee were just waiting on her desk in her office. That was one of the disadvantages of being the official queen.

An idea struck her mind like a bell at noon and she hid the grin as soon as she could feel creeping onto her face.

"Thank you, Rowe…" Morgan began.

"In return for letting you take care of the boy, you will take care of the kingdoms finances for an entire month without complaining or escaping it. Do that and your little pet will be allowed to live for now." Rowena interrupted her and was given the pleasure of watching Morgan's perfect façade fall apart as she desperately tried to keep her crumbling smile intact.

Was that a vein throbbing in her forehead?

"Thank you, Rowena." Morgan said while grinding her teeth in no doubt a valiant attempt to conceal her anger. "I'll do that just as soon as I've made sure Mordred has a new friend to train with." She left the hall in a hurry before Rowena was able to say anything in response.

Snickering in victory, Rowena continued to drink her wine in peace and quiet until…

"Your Highness, since the desk in your office is currently filled with requests and documents, I took the privilege of bringing the rest of the documents here for you to approve." A female attendant said as she brought in a mountain of parchment, a quill and ink in hand. "I leave you to it, Your Majesty."

She really should have made the condition _this_ month.

**AOB**

"_No please, I told you everything I know!" Jerad the merchant pleaded. His face was covered in bruises and his hands were broken and twisted. The chains attached to the stocks holding his head and hands in place rattled with each movement as the merchant begged him to stop._

"_I can be of help to you! Take anything from my shop! The cows, the pigs, the horses and the spices, anything you want is yours!" He cried desperately, the tears running down his filthy cheeks and creating clean tracks in the process. His lips, which had been torn from the excessive beatings his interrogators had put him through, started bleeding once more, but he didn't seem to care._

_When Shirou's expression didn't change, the merchant backed away as far as the chains allowed him to. "That's not enough? Then take it all! I don't need it, not when I can start over. You can take the shop and the servants, even my ship. Imagine what you can do with that much wealth! Gold, wine and women, it could all be yours." He sniffed out as snot dripped for his nose. Despair entered his face when Shirou's eyes remained cold and uncaring._

"_Please, take my wife or anything you want. __I just… __I don't want to die!" Jerad cried out, fear overtaking his senses and he rocked back and forth. He lowered his head to the floor, childlike cries muffled into his shirt. He didn't see Shirou raise the axe, newly sharpened and reinforced to reduce the pain to an absolute minimum._

"_I'm sorry." Shirou whispered. _

_And then the axe swooped down towards the merchant's unprotected neck._

Shirou awoke with a jerk as he tumbled down to the floor from the bed. Pain blossomed into his vision with a million stars as his forehead struck the floor with a loud _*Thud*._ The remarkably thick wooden floor didn't give as his not-as-thick-as-you'd-expect head collided with it. His head bounced back from the force of the descent, only to be brought down again for yet another impact when gravity took control once more.

He gripped his sore head and groaned in his pain, rolling around in some attempt to alleviate his agony. Unfortunately the room he was sleeping in was smaller than a closet and he didn't even manage to complete a single turn before his back hit the wall. He cursed and growled, as if verbally acknowledging his pain would make it go away, but the hammering migraine his brain was currently in was proving to be rather persistent.

This wasn't just pain from the impact. For some reason he was having a headache, an incredibly powerful one too, which was odd considering he usually never had headaches at all. He possessed a rather powerful immune system according to his doctor, or as Fuji-ne had put it, _'Idiots don't get colds'._ Which spoke more of her than him since he had never seen her get sick while he had been sick several times after overclocking his circuits during his training.

So why was his head pounding like a drum?

The last thing he could remember was walking towards the prisoner's cell to-

-execute Jerad the merchant.

As soon as he remembered the previous night's events his world began to spin and swirl out of control. Like a macabre merry-go-round, his mind began to replay the events from last night as he desperately fought to stay upright. His stomach lurched and he heaved, but there was nothing in his stomach to regurgitate and nothing but a thick yellow liquid escaped his throat. The pain in his stomach increased as he dry heaved. Sweat ran down his face and he started shaking, suddenly feeling cold despite the warm temperature the tavern was constantly heated up to.

He remembered now. After the war council had finished and Shirou had been told to kill the merchant, he had gone to Rowland and told him what had happened. Rowland's response had been simple.

"Drink." He had said after shoving an entire bottle of wine in his hands.

Shirou had obliged, but had only been able to finish half the bottle before a soldier had arrived to escort him to the cell holding the merchant. Even as the alcohol's warm embrace soothed his nerves, he could feel the icy cold trepidation freeze his veins with each step he took. An axe had been shoved into his hands once he neared the door. A single look at the axe told him everything he needed to know. It was not a tool meant for cutting off heads, but a tool meant for cutting down trees. The axe head was dull and needed sharpening, a task Shirou demanded to be done before the act of taking a life and one he demanded to do himself. The soldier had conceded on the matter and Shirou had made certain to be as slow as he possibly could, drawing the whetstone along the blade in long and slow movements. He had hoped the alcohol would take the edge off the actual killing, but when the axe was done and the soldier declared the time to be right, Shirou still didn't feel any braver or righteous about it.

He had used alteration on the axe once the soldier had locked the door behind him. Instead of a woodsman's axe, he had been holding an executioner's axe. Designed to be as efficient as possible, Shirou had made certain the blade was supernaturally sharp. Quick and painless, just like a Band-Aid. Except he was killing a man, not ripping off a piece of glue and textile.

He had tried to ignore the merchant's cries and apologies, he really had. He reasoned that if the merchant thought he didn't care about his begging then he would stop talking. Except the merchant had simply tried harder and harder to beg for his life, the only thing Shirou couldn't fault him for. No matter what kind of crimes a man had committed, he was always allowed to beg for mercy even if mercy was impossible.

He had swung the axe once the Jerad the merchant had been looking down and wasn't expecting it. Perhaps it would be more pleasant if he didn't know what had happened, rather than to see the blade coming down for him. A tiny, dark part of his mind felt glad the man wasn't looking at him when it happened, that he wasn't forced to look the man in the eyes when he took his first life. He tried to beat the thought out of his mind, to snuff it in its crib, but he couldn't say it was wrong. He didn't know if he could have done it while looking him at the merchant's face, to see the man's eyes go from terrified to lifeless. It was a feeling Kiritsugu had spoken of many times, but Shirou had never truly understood the meaning of it. Not until yesterday he hadn't.

After the 'dirty deed' had been done, he walked back to the tavern not even bothering to return the axe to the soldier. He had dumped the bloodied weapon along the way, unsure of whether it had been closer to the camp or the village. Regardless, he doubted he'd ever see the bloody thing ever again. Not that he'd ever want to, it'd just be a reminder of the life he had taken.

Rowland had drawn up a bath for him in advance and had given him the rest of the bottle he had been unable to finish. Shirou had spent the next few hours drinking wine while trying to wash off the blood which had been clinging to his skin like dry paint. He had traced steel wool to scrub off the red liquid, but the damn blood never went away. He had kept on scrubbing until he had realized it was his own blood he was furiously trying to remove and the skin had since long been dissolved, revealing red muscle and yellow fat. When his bath water had turned red from the accumulated blood he had jumped out and washed off with the clean bucket he had drawn from the well. The water burned his self-caused injuries, but it helped in a way. It gave him focus and a way to remain in control, something he desperately needed at the moment.

The last thing he had done before going to bed was to throw his old clothes into the fireplace and watching them go up in flames and smoke. He couldn't wear them again, not after the blood of the merchant had been covered in them. He had fought wargs and traveled through time in them, he had seen them get torn apart only to fix them up again using thread and needle, but after killing a human being and getting them covered in blood couldn't wear them without feeling like he was covered in blood. Human blood.

"Oi, Laddie! Ya up yet?" Rowland's booming voice resonated from the staircase. Even with the door closed, Shirou could still hear the man like he was standing right next to him. It made the migraine even more unbearable than before.

"Yeah, I'm up!" He yelled back, wincing as the sound reverberated inside his skull like the thunder after a lightning bolt. It was a shame they didn't have aspirins in the middle ages. It would have been wonderful if he had something to take the pain away.

"Good, get your arse down here! We're havin' breakfast late today and unless ya get up now you'll be waitin' for lunch to get somethin' to eat." Shirou groaned at the response and tried to stand up. His legs were wobbly and his vision was a little unstable, but he was able to make it downstairs without incident, not counting the wine bottle he knocked over since he was actually able to catch it in time.

Rowland smiled when he saw the way he held his head, as if he was trying to stop the room from spinning.

"Your head feelin' alright there, lad?" The large man asked innocently, probably knowing that every sound was a living nightmare for Shirou. He was rewarded with Shirou's annoyed growl when his words proved too loud for the magus' headache.

"Yeah, sure. Do you have anything to cure headaches? Magecraft doesn't really help with hangovers." Hangovers and tumbling out of beds were two things he'd never thought he'd need help with, but fate had a way of proving him wrong.

"Aye, but it stinks worse than Geoffrey's breath after he's been drinkin'. Wait right here, Ah'll go and get it for ya." He said as he put a bowl of something on the table and slid it in Shirou's direction. In the dim candlelight all Shirou could see was a brown pudding with something which looked like honey in the center. It didn't look very tasty, and if his nose was correct, the honey was merely there to add something to the bland taste of the… stew.

Was something wrong with Rowland? For Rowland, the chef who was so proud of his culinary skills that he wouldn't even let Shirou take a single step into the kitchen, to make something as boring as this was rather strange. Even when the man was hungover and suffering a pounding headache the tavern owner was able to cook up something enjoyable for breakfast. This was not something he'd call enjoyable, but he wasn't complaining. Food would have tasted bland no matter what he ate, even as he took a bite from the grey pudding he knew it wouldn't have made a difference if the honey had been missing. He didn't even register the taste as he chewed and swallowed mechanically, each bite being processed in his mouth like a machine processed food in a factory.

Rowland came back, holding a pouch filled with what he assumed was herbs judging by the floral scent wafting for the leather. Sure enough, as the man poured a couple of herbs into a mug of steaming water the smell intensified until it was almost cloying.

"Here it is, lad. Don't bother smellin' it, ya already know it stinks enough to make ya puke." The gruff man said as he handed him the mug, scoffing when he saw the empty bowl of bland pudding. "Hungry, were ya?" he asked.

"I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. What was that? Some kind of local delicacy?" He doubted it was a delicacy, but he didn't want to be rude in case he was wrong.

"Bloody hell, lad! Ya really think we'd want to eat somethin' so disgustin' as a delicacy? Nah, it was gruel made from oats and as bland as it gets. Ah'd figured ya wouldn't want to eat somethin' fancy like ya normally do. Ah've never met a man in me life who wanted to eat something rewardin'after killin' a human for the first time in his life." Rowland said sadly, his age finally showing its years.

"You've seen many people who've recently killed for the first time?" Shirou asked curiously. The thought that others had gone through the same thing he was currently doing lit a spark of hope in his chest and he felt warm for the first time since he woke up.

"Aye, plenty o' them too. It's not somethin' easy like they tell ya in trainin', is it? Takin' a life, it leaves a scar on your soul. It keeps ya awake at night, wonderin' if the man ya killed really deserved dyin'. Ya spend your time punishin' yourself by eatin' less, drinkin' less and fuckin' less, as if ya not livin' your own life will make up for takin' someone else's." Rowland said, a grim frown on his face.

"The most important thin' to remember is that ya had to do it and there is nothin' wrong with takin' a life if it means savin' other lives. The merchant you killed was responsible for the deaths o' dozens o' people. He was a casualty o' war, and there will be plenty more to come before the invasion is over. Just make sure that you're savin' good people by killin' evil men, and not killin' good men by savin' evil people." The aging tavern owner said confidently as he started eating his own gruel, grimacing at the bland taste.

Shirou pondered over what he had been told. It had been very similar to what Kiritsugu had taught him, to save ten by killing one. It was short and simple, and the cold which had been freezing his body seemed to diminish slightly. He was following his father's footsteps, he was going to become a hero of justice one day. He had simply hit his first roadblock.

"Does it ever get easier?" He asked. The thought of killing someone again wasn't a pleasant one, but Rowland's words and Kiritsugu's lessons were helping him think again.

"Killin'?" Rowland said. "Sure it does, Ah've seen men who cried like babies after their first kill slaughter dozens o' men on the battlefield just months later. The problem is the guilt ya have to live with afterwards. If ya can live with the guilt then you're fine, but the problem is what you're supposed to do if you can't. Some turn to the church, some kill themselves. Some find a way to work off the stress they work up by findin' somethin' fun to play around with, but that's to each their own. What you're askin' is if killin' a man gets easier after you've done it once and the answer is yes." Rowland said as he finished his gruel, a constant grimace on his face. "Yuck! Ya better cheer up soon lad, because Ah'm sure as hell not makin' shite again. Tomorrow it's pork stew for breakfast." He grumbled as he plucked the dirty dishes form the table.

He wouldn't say he had cheered up, not after what he had done the night before, but he wasn't feeling quite as awful as he had done just minutes earlier. The feeling of guilt was still there, but it wasn't the crippling weight he had been under since he woke up.

"I'm looking forward to it." Shirou said and he genuinely did. Nothing would come from moping over his loss of innocence. He was about to fight a war, even if he wasn't going to be in the heart of the battlefield. Killing would be a part of it all, even if he hated the act of it. If he had to dirty his hands to make sure the village of Blackbay was safe then he would do it, because that's what Kiritsugu would have done.

"Ya better lad, Ah'm cookin' one of the pigs ya brought back from shamblefields. Old Henry gave us one o' the sows as a reward for buyin' 'em, the softie even tried to make it sound as if the pig was too small for him to use. Good thing too, 'cause you've never eaten pork like Ah make 'em." He said from the kitchen. Judging by the sound of water splashing about, the man was cleaning the dishes. "The herbs Ah use are just perfect for pigs! Nothin' beats me when it comes to pork!" The tall man laughed from the kitchen. Shirou chuckled as he heard the man's words.

"I guess you're the king of pigs then, aren't ya?" Shirou called back and a loud laugh echoed from the kitchen. The hangover cure must have been working since it didn't feel like his eardrums were popping.

"True, but does that mean you're the king o' sheep?" Rowland asked. Looking back at Rowland, Shirou was confused by his words. Sheep? He had never said he was good at cooking sheep. He was good with fish and chicken, but sheep? Nope. He was about to ask the old man about it when he received his explanation. "Cause you're gonna feel mighty sheepish when ya realize you're not wearin' any clothes!" The tavern owner barked out, a boisterous laugh echoing in the empty tavern.

Looking down, Shirou realized the balding man was right. After he had torched his old clothes he had gone to sleep, but had forgotten to put on anything after he woke up. He was only wearing his underpants at the moment, black boxers which had been put through considerable wear and tear the last few weeks. Feeling his face heat up like a Christmas tree on Christmas eve, he raced back up to his room, Rowland's laughter following his quick retreat. Closing the door behind him, he thanked his lucky stars that the tavern had not opened yet. The first guests to arrive were usually women, sent by their husbands or fathers to give Rowland a part of the day's catch. If he had been seen in only his boxers he doubted he'd ever live it down. After the incident with Skullcrusher his reputation had been a bit in the dumps. Not in a bad way, considering he was still seen as the town's hero, but teasing remarks had become the norm rather than the exception whenever he spoke to a villager.

Sighing in relief over not being seen by anyone other than Rowland, he stalked over to the clothes he had been given by Ludvig the day before. Not that he was ungrateful for the gift, but the reason behind them was why he had preferred to keep his old clothes. Since he had burnt his school uniform to ashes the night before, he had no other option, but to wear the clothes Ludvig had graciously provided him.

The first thing he noticed was the color. It was all black, from the shirt and the leather tunic to the trouser and boots made from thicker and harder leather. Not a single drab of white or red, the only exception was a dragon outlined with blue thread, made from fabric on the left side of his chest, right where his heart should be. The dragon itself was black, except for its blue eyes. What the dragon represented he didn't know, but he was betting on it having some sort of deep symbolic meaning.

He thought it looked cool so he kept it on. No point in removing it if he liked it and he could always ask Rowland or Vortimer about it later.

The trousers were more or less what he was used to wearing so putting them on was rather easy. Put your feet in the leggings and pull up and then secure with a primitive belt, it was no big deal for him who had spent his life wearing pants (That sentence sounded a lot weirder than it was supposed to). The problem he had with the pants was the fact that they were rather baggy. It took him a while to understand that he needed to secure them inside his boots to stop them from flapping around each time he took a step. Even then he had to cut some of the excess fabric away to make them fit properly. The shirt, made from linen and remarkably thin, was also quite easy to squeeze into at first, but proved to be a bit problematic, seeing as it was oversized and he had to roll the sleeves of the shirt up in order to make use of his hands. The tunic followed the same function, but he had to secure the tunic with another belt, this one more intricate and decorated than the one for his pants. Why the belt for his tunic was more important than the belt for his pants he did not know, but Ludvig would probably say it was for some pompous reason and he really didn't look forward to seeing that man. At least the tunic had a series of silver buttons so he could close it properly. In that way it resembled a vest more than tunic.

He could tell right from the start that these clothes weren't new and they weren't meant for him. The shirt was somewhat too large for him and the trousers were much too baggy for them to be meant for a child. It could be the norm for the Middle Ages, seeing as having something tailored would have cost more than they could afford, but he couldn't see Ludvig being a cheapskate when it came to boosting morale. If Shirou was right about the man then he would either not pay at all or make sure he got the full set. Buying whatever he found didn't seem to suit the Commander's image, not when he had been so adamant in turning Shirou into the army's 'saint'. Most likely the clothing came from some local noble who didn't have any use of them and would be happy to make room for newer clothing.

Well, one man's trash is another man's treasure.

Feeling confident he wasn't wearing anything incorrectly, he walked back downstairs.

…Only to be greeted by Vortimer talking to a frowning Rowland.

"Did I miss anything?" He asked the duo, unsure of what was happening.

The two men turned to him and Vortimer's smiling face appeared rather dim. "Quite a bit, I'm afraid. Ludvig summoned us to the war council this morning, but when you didn't show he decided to continue regardless. We have a lot to discuss, but little time to do it in." The knight said grimly, but his smile returned when he noticed Shirou's new outfit. "I see you finally managed to wear something other than those rags you called clothes. Good thing too, traveling to the western forest with a beggar would not have been a pleasant journey." He joked and Rowland reluctantly joined in.

"So what did Ludvig talk about? Was it about the soldiers attacking the supply chains?" Vortimer had been ordered to clear out the Cornish forces disrupting their deliveries and Shirou had been assigned as his subordinate. Last time they had spoken to Ludvig they had been ordered to leave as soon as possible so that probably meant leaving today or tomorrow.

"Yes and no, with emphasis on both. He told me that we are supposed to depart before dawn tomorrow at the latest, and he has given me a total force of over four-hundred soldiers. Seeing as I have two companies under my command I'd figure you would be in command of the vanguard, Captain Emiya. Would that be agreeable to you?" Sir Vortimer asked and Shirou couldn't help but feel a hint of pride at being given such an important role, aside from the archers he had trained.

"Of course, I'd be happy to, as long as we go through to plan beforehand. I'm having a hard time keeping track of all the signals and what they mean." He had been taught all the different signals used under the course of battle, from the trumpets to the flags being waved. The knights who had taught him were old and stern swordsmen, raised from birth for the battlefield. While they disliked teaching some no-name child when they could have been practicing their swordsmanship, they were better teachers than Geoffrey who skipped important parts of the lessons he was supposed to be giving.

"Yes, that would be prudent. Your second-in-command told me you do not possess any armor of your own so I asked a blacksmith to forge some basic armor for you. While a full set of chain mail or plate armor would be preferred, I'm afraid that would take time and resources we do not currently possess. Chainmail and plate armor are expensive and time consuming, coupled with the lack of blacksmiths in the army and it appears you'll have to make do for now." Vortimer informed him and Shirou felt shocked at the gesture. He had already prepared himself for the thought of fighting in his normal clothes with only reinforcement to protect him since forging armor took a lot of time and there were a lot of soldiers who needed armor more than he did.

"Thank you, but you didn't need to do that. I'm perfectly fine without armor and I'm sure there are plenty of people who could use the protection better than I would." He explained politely and Vortimer scowled at his answer. It was an odd thing to see on the face of the usually jolly knight.

"Armor is the second most important thing to bring into battle after your weapon. Without armor the odds of being run through by a spear or sword increases tenfold, something which is unacceptable in our situation." At Shirou's confused look the knight sighed in frustration. "Please tell me you realize why we cannot afford to fall on the battlefield."

"Uh, because people die when they are killed?" He said, unsure of the actual reason why. If he died saving the village then he wouldn't have any regrets about it. His answer only seemed to frustrate the knight.

"Yes and if we die then the men under our command would lose morale and break formation, resulting in a ruined flank which in turn means the enemy can strike us in our weakened state. Captains and Commanders are more than just soldiers on the battlefield, they're beacons of hope. As long as they stand tall the men behind them will follow. If they die then the men will lose their bravery and fall into disarray. That's why kings and nobles on the battlefields always wear distinct armor and are protected at all costs. If the leaders fall then the battle is lost, and you are one of the unofficial leaders, saint 'Shiro Emija'." He lectured Shirou, using the false name Ludvig had created as a final nail in the coffin. It seemed like such a rude and vindictive thing to do, very out of character for Vortimer to use the rumors surrounding him to make sure his opinion was heard.

"Is something wrong?" Shirou asked, changing the subject. The knight was acting weird and he seemed very annoyed for some reason.

"What do you mean?" Vortimer asked in return. He didn't seem very used to being angry, that was for sure. Unlike Rowland and Ludvig who were able to switch from furious to calm in less than a second, Vortimer seemed to be the type to simmer in anger for a long time. Either he didn't have the talent for being a merchant (something he and Shirou would have shared) or he simply didn't have the same experience as the older men.

"Well, you seem agitated for some reason. Did something happen at the war council?" It wouldn't have been the first time Ludvig had made some outrageous demand and pissed off some noble with his words. He just didn't think Vortimer would have been so affected by Ludvig's words. He always seemed so calm and collected.

"I… I apologize, my temper must have gotten the best of me. I can't tell you exactly what is the matter, but the Commander informed us that the duke would be arriving in a few days and… Well, I'm not on good terms with the duke at the moment so I must have let my emotions run a bit too wild." Vortimer apologized and the polite knight Shirou had grown used to seeing was back, though the smile on his face was rather weak in comparison to the large grins he was accustomed to.

"It's nothing, but does that mean you actually know the duke? As in Duke Vortigern?" Shirou asked and Vortimer grimaced at the question. Shirou realized only after he had asked it that Vortimer was on bad terms with the duke. Asking something like that was probably very rude. "I'm sorry you don't need to answer."

"Thank you, Sir Emiya. I'm afraid I can't tell you at the moment, though it's probably considered an open secret by now. You'll have to wait and find out later, but I do need to get back on topic. You really do need to wear armor, both for your own sake and for the men under your command. Even if you're assigned to the archers, you still run the risk of saxon forces breaking away from their formation and attacking you. You are responsible for the lives under your command, don't throw away their efforts simply because you want to be stubborn." Vortimer said tiredly, running his hands through his blond hair.

"I guess you're right. Okay, I'll wear the armor if it means that much for the army. Where is it?" There was no point arguing. Even if he didn't think he should be wearing the armor, if it meant the soldiers would be at more confident in their formation then he would wear it.

"It's at the blacksmith, but it's nowhere near finished. They're still forging all the necessary equipment for the war so it'll take a few weeks before the pieces for your armor is ready. You'll have to try and keep yourself intact without armor and hope for the best for now. This is the thing I want to ask you though, how good are you with a sword?" The question was random, but understandable. The thing which confused Shirou was why he was asking it now. Ludvig had said he was a 'capable' swordsman after seeing him do a few exercises, but he hadn't been able to spar with anyone ever since he had arrived in this age. The last time he had been able to have a proper spar was with Fuji-nee two days before he had been kidnapped and thrown into the middle ages.

"I'm decent, I guess." He wasn't being humble. He had seen the Sir William practice his swordsmanship and while he was pretty sure he could hold his own against the former knight, without reinforcement he was destined to lose due to the difference in strength and skill.

"Decent is better than nothing I suppose, but if you are to take command of a company then you'll need to be able to hold your own in battle. Would it be alright if you sparred with one of my men? I'd like to get a measure of your skill before we depart." Vortimer asked and a thrill of excitement rushed through his body. A spar with a real soldier?

"Of course, that would be great! When and where will we spar?" He asked, failing to contain his newfound energy. Vortimer chuckled at his exhilaration.

"Right now if possible, my men are waiting outside and they have been feeling rather bored lately. A spar would do wonders to ease their boredom." The knight smiled as he walked to the door. "I'm looking forward to seeing your skill with a blade." He said before leaving shirou alone in the tavern.

**AOB**

The fight was very disappointing. His opponent wasn't a knight or a veteran soldier. He had been a mercenary before Vortimer had recruited him and it showed. His strikes were fast for a normal person, but were way too slow to hit someone who sparred with the Tiger of Fuyuki. Even his skill with a blade was subpar, much too rough and unbalanced to be considered a genuine style. All the signs pointed to him having started swinging sword one day and having some modicum of talent for it, but never having the energy or motivation to develop anything out of that talent. His experience with a sword was probably the only thing keeping Shirou from ending the spar in less than thirty seconds. Unlike him, Shirou was not used to swinging a real blade at a human being and he had to stop himself from attacking out of fear for hurting the man.

Whenever Shirou left an opening the man would lunge for it, regardless of how obvious the trap really was. The man had the basics down in terms of defense and offense, but other than that he was not the swordsman Shirou had been expecting. Anyone with a decent grounding in kendo would know such a lazy feint when they saw it, but Shirou's opponent hadn't studied kendo, or any style of fencing for that matter it seemed. Shirou didn't even need to use the wooden shield he had been given most of the time, instead opting to sidestep the attacks with minimal effort.

In the end he had simply shoved the pommel into the chainmail-covered stomach of the armored soldier and let the impact do the rest. The sound of vomiting echoing inside the opponent's helm told him the spar was over and he removed the thick jacket which served as light armor.

The point of the entire duel had been to test Shirou's skill with a blade and to do that he had to use a real steel sword. His opponent therefore had to wear a complete suit of armor to minimize the risk of fatal injury whereas Shirou wore a thick jacket stuffed with tanned leather to protect himself against the opponent's dulled blade.

He hung the jacket on the fence surrounding the makeshift dueling ring and took a deep gulp of water from a canteen. He ignored the stunned looks the soldiers around him were giving him, they were probably farmers or carpenters and had never seen a real swordsman before. Seeing a child take down a full grown man in armor was probably an impressive sight all in its own, but when they knew the man was an experienced fighter the feat was made even more amazing.

"If that is what you consider to be decent then I shudder to think of what you consider to be good. That was some pretty impressive skill you showed there." Vortimer whistled in admiration. "You're almost skilled enough to be a knight, though the stance you took was most unusual. May I ask where you learned how to wield a sword?" the knight asked curious.

"My neighbor taught me most of it, though my dad was the one who taught me the footwork." Amongst other techniques, Shirou added in his head. They had just captured one traitor, it wouldn't be wise to reveal all his tricks when the risk of there being another spy close by existed.

"Well, I have to admit that you're a skilled swordsman, something we sorely lack at the moment. I'm almost tempted to demand Ludvig assign you to my company for the entire invasion. It was as if you knew what the man was going to do before he did it." For all of his flamboyant acts, Vortimer was sharp. Shirou's style was focused on trapping his opponent and controlling the flow of battle. It had been a trick Kiritsugu had told him about the day he had first defeated Fuji-nee in a spar. If the opponent was faster, stronger and more skilled than you then you would require other means to win. Tricking them into attacking what looks like an opening while turning it into a trap was the most basic of tools he had developed over the years and it was his most useful in beating Fuji-nee. She might be the strongest kendo practitioner amongst the living, but she had never been able to figure out if his openings were fake or real. And like he had said, his dad had taught him the footwork, the part of his body where he actually needed a stable stance.

If Fuji-nee had been unable to defeat his fake-opening style then he doubted some farmer-turned-soldier would have much luck. A knight on the other hand… It looked like Shirou needed to increase his training if he was to have any chance to spar with a real knight.

"You flatter me, but I'd prefer to stay with the archers for now. It's what I've been training for the entire time I was here so I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to Ludvig." He said respectfully, careful not to sound too demanding.

"I understand." Vortimer acknowledged. "But that is a matter for another time. You have probably already figured out why I wanted to see you spar, am I correct?" The knight asked, confident that Shirou had been smart enough to realize the point of the duel.

Shirou had indeed realized why Vortimer had wanted him to spar with his men, or at least he thought he had. The vanguard was in charge of leading an army, though a vanguard was not usually needed when the force was as small as four-hundred men. Therefore it was safe to presume that it would be the vanguard who would be first to face battle against the enemy. If Shirou was to be in command of the vanguard then he would need to be able to fight with a sword until the main force arrived to help them.

But why would he need a vanguard with a force of only four-hundred? It was reasonable if it was closer to a thousand, but four-hundred? Obviously Vortimer had some sort of plan, but Shirou couldn't figure out what it was.

"Why do you need a vanguard?" He asked and Vortimer's smile spread from ear to ear, figuratively speaking.

"I'm once again impressed by your intelligence and insight, sir Emiya. I didn't think you'd be able to see through my plan so far with so few a clue. As you surmised, a Commander needs to be able to fight with a sword if they command the vanguard, but with such a small force a vanguard would be insignificant in its small size. However, in this case the plan I have created relies on the Cornish forces doing what they've always done: attacking our supply chain to weaken us. So my idea was to disguise the vanguard as servants meant to deliver those supplies and have the attackers fight the vanguard…" Vortimer explained.

"Locking them in place long enough for the main force to engage them." Shirou finished for him. "Because if we waltzed through the forest with the entire army the Cornish forces would retreat and be more careful in picking their targets. However that would mean the vanguard would be smaller than the Cornish attackers, much smaller in fact. Most caravans aren't larger than twenty people and the soldiers in the forest were somewhere around a hundred. Even if you're just a few minutes away there's no way twenty men will hold off a hundred long enough for you to arrive." He pointed out. Even with Shirou using Magecraft to back them, five against one was impossible without some pretty damn good tactics and strategy. Fighting from a castle might be possible, but out in the open? That was merely assisted suicide.

"Yes, I thought so as well until I spoke with Sir Edmund. But it would be better if I had a map to show you with. Can we go inside again so I can show you what I mean to do?" the knight asked and they once more entered the tavern. After having a short spar with someone of mediocre skill, Shirou felt slightly disappointed at the lack of actual challenge. Having spent so much time forging weapons and training archery, his skill with a sword had not been used much lately. However he knew better than to put his own amusement before what needed to be done. If Vortimer wanted him to go inside so they could go through the plan then that was what they were going to do.

After a few minutes of shuffling around and finding a table good enough to unfold the large map on, Shirou was staring at what appeared to be the western parts of Albion, with Blackbay being nowhere to be seen. Exactly how far was it to the western forest?

"According to the merchant, the Cornish forces are located in the eastern parts of the Western Forest. They wait near the fork of the roads and attack the caravans who travel through the forest. As you said, caravans rarely exceed twenty people and they might get suspicious if a caravan of a hundred men comes close. So my plan is this: you and twenty men will travel in one caravan while another caravan of another twenty men travels behind you. Two caravans meeting on the road is not rare and even quite common in times of war. Instead of supplies the cargo in the wagons will be more men, hopefully another ten in each wagon if possible. That would bring the vanguard closer to eighty men, a more realistic number if you're fighting the Cornish bandits. If you're attacked then you will fight back and kill as many as possible until the reinforcements arrive which should take less than a few minutes. Meanwhile, I and the Lions will flank Cornwall's forces and seal off their escape route. The only advice I have to you besides not to die is to try and capture their leaders if possible. Knights and Commanders tend to hold more information than mere infantry." Vortimer explained quickly without pause.

It was a simple plan, but simple plans were usually the best. Kiritsugu had told him never to use complex strategies unless they were absolutely necessary for the situation. 'Always overthink, never overcomplicate' had been Kiritsugu's motto, a motto one could tell from the way he executed his missions without failure. Kiritsugu could predict the actions and emotions of his target and plan accordingly, but he never spent more energy than needed when hunting. Creating a plan with multiple scenarios in mind was good, but creating a plan which relied on the actions of the several factors was doomed to fail right from the start. Planning fifty steps ahead was good in Saturday animes, but in real life it was a good way to find yourself wondering what happened when you lose yourself in the different scenarios.

In other words; Keep it simple!

This was about as simple as it could get. Shirou would the bait along with a small vanguard while Vortimer ambushed the bandits from behind. Judging by the map, Shirou and Vortimer would have to split up about three kilometers south of the forest. Shirou would take the eastern road and head into the 'ambush' while Vortimer would take the western road and flank the Cornish soldiers. The thing which worried Shirou was the soldiers he'd be commanding.

"Did Jerad…" saying the name of the man he had killed brought a bitter taste to his tongue. "…Say anything about the different kinds of soldiers he brought into Albion?" If Shirou was to fight the Cornish forces using the disguise of a caravan then he'd be forced to fight with infantry only. Caravans and merchants could not afford a large retinue of knights and cavalry to follow them around. If he was lucky then he might be able to bring as many as ten cavalrymen with him, but anymore and the Cornish soldiers would get suspicious of the mysteriously large caravan with a unusually large guard. If that was the case then he'd like to know just what kind of enemies he'd be fighting… Killing…

"According to the merchant, most of them were simple infantry albeit heavily armored ones. There were very few heavy cavalry troops, but plenty of light cavalry. If they used the armor taken from Sir Williams then I think the forces you'd be fighting would be made up of mostly infantry with a small force of light cavalry and a commanding core made up from heavy cavalry. The dense forest makes archery difficult so very few archers would be employed. You're thinking about the structure of their forces, are you not?" Vortimer said interested.

"How long do you think the vanguard can hold out against a hundred infantry and cavalry? The reinforcements would have to be very close to the battle in order to be able to make it in time and help us. Five minutes would the absolute limit, any more than that and we'll be slaughtered even with Magecraft." Shirou said, looking at the map. What kind of terrain would there be on a forest road? boulders and mountains? Fallen trees and roots?

Shirou believed he could take care of himself against people older and larger than he was, his fight with Scarface had proven that, but he was under no illusions of being able to beat back an entire army with a force of lesser quantity and quality. The dense forest would mean the enemy wouldn't be able to fire their arrows, but the same could be said for him. His normal arrows wouldn't do much of they could hit the target unless they were standing ten meters away and his RPG-arrows (He really needed a good name for them) would be useless once the opposing forces clashed. So he would be forced to use reinforcement and his skill with a sword to fight, but that wouldn't let them beat a force larger and better equipped than they were. They would need more men in case Vortimer wasn't able to make it in time.

"Do you think we can add a third caravan just in case? If the third caravan hangs back a bit further they'll think they haven't even seen each other yet. We could add another forty men that way." Shirou suggested. If that was the case then the two small armies would be of somewhat equal size and it would increase their chances of survival in case Vortimer was delayed. Getting lost in the woods wasn't very uncommon after all and it would take time to march through a forest with several hundred men in tow.

"It might alert the enemy, but… with any luck they might assume the caravans have sought safety in numbers. It's not uncommon for merchants to pool their resources and higher a larger amount of guards than they would be able to do separately. Now that war is upon us, it wouldn't be odd for the merchants to feel insecure while traveling the trading routes." Vortimer said, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Very well, a third caravan will be added to vanguard, but it will travel behind the other two in order to keep the disguise."

Shirou sighed in relief. The thought of fighting and killing brought a chill to his bones, but at least he wouldn't be hopelessly outnumbered this way. Unlike what he had been taught by Kiritsugu, now he'd be fighting as a part of a large group, but the enemy he'd be fighting against was much larger than what his father usually fought. His father could destroy an entire army if he wanted to, but through careful planning and dirty tactics. Destroying their food supply, spreading false rumors and poisoning their water were his basic methods, but his father had other more creative techniques to pick his targets apart piece by piece.

The difference was the instruments at their disposal. The modern equipment Kiritsugu used wouldn't be invented for another one-thousand five-hundred years or so and Shirou wasn't quite as skilled as his father when it came to assassinations considering he had never killed another human being until the night before. If he was to help the people of Blackbay, or Albion and Britannia in general, then he would have to work with larger groups of people, maybe even nobles. Hence the reason he was in the vanguard and trying to improve the chances of survival of the people around him. Not to mention improving his chances of finding a way home as well.

"Thanks, I appreciate the reinforcements. I don't know if I would be able to do much in a forest when my archery is next to useless, or at the very least severely limited." He said truthfully. Vortimer seemed to disagree with him however, as he shook his head with a smile.

"Not at all, asking you to fight a superior force outside of your element is my failure as a Commander." Vortimer assured him. "Speaking of fighting, there is one thing I want to ask you. Do you possess a sword by any means? I've only seen you wield that monster you call a bow, but a swordsman of your skill must have a sword somewhere." He pointed out as he looked around the tavern, as if he would be able to find a sword lying around a dusty old hut.

"I do… Well, in a way at least. I use my Magecraft to create a sword through projection so I don't own a real sword, but I never felt the need to get a real one." He answered truthfully. It wasn't like projection was a very advanced branch of magecraft so it wouldn't be too much of a secret. He'd be fine as long as he didn't reveal how much he depended on that particular branch of thaumaturgy.

"But projection requires prana, no? And you use prana for reinforcement and other Magecraft? It seems to me that it would be a waste of magical energy to spend it on something as basic as a sword when you can just use a real one. Wouldn't that leave more power for your other Magecraft?" Vortimer pointed out and Shirou paused. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"But forging a sword could take weeks considering the work the blacksmiths need to do first, not to mention the lack of steel we're facing right now. Where would I find a sword when everyone is looking for something to fight with?" He asked and even though he already knew the answer, he was curious as to how Vortimer would answer.

Vortimer merely smiled and pulled something wrapped in cloth from behind his cloak.

"That's what you have friends for, Sir Shirou." he said as he unraveled the package. Shirou took one look at the contents and his eyes widened to the size of saucers.

"Since its previous owner won't be needing it anymore, I took the liberty of bringing it here. It's a beautiful blade, is it not?" The knight said as he put the sword on the table.

There, unsheathed in all of its shimmering glory, laid the sword of Sir Williams. A hand-and-a-half sword, with a blade as pristine as silver and the pommel resembling a crescent moon with the tips almost grazing each other in a very near circle. The blade had a length of ninety-three centimeters and was little more than five centimeters in width. The handle was made of wood from an apple tree, covered with black leather and was almost twenty-five centimeters, pommel to cross-guard. It had been forged by the finest blacksmiths centuries ago and the sheer presence that it demanded was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He knew the name of this sword very well, more than any factory-made blade he had bought in his own time. The name of this sword was…

"Curtana."


	12. Patron Saint

**After 158301 words, 11 chapters, ten months and a lot of revising, we finally get our very first look at Saber.**

**That's right, baby, you heard me. Arturia Pendragon, the King of Knights, the Once and Future king of Britannia, owner of Avalon and Excalibur is in da house!**

**The reason why I haven't included her in the story yet was because I didn't want to ruin her entrance with meaningless filler. Arturia was probably the second most interesting person to write in the chapter, with Gawain being the most interesting. I just find the knights in Fate to be so damn interesting!**

**The Omake in the end was something I came up with after marathoning the fourth season of ERB (Epic Rap Battles of History). Just something I thought was interesting.**

**Special thanks to BPZ for being my Beta.**

**For now, please enjoy!**

* * *

_A blade of splendor, held by a girl of delicate features. The sword in her hands was wielded with hopes and dreams of a unified Britannia and the happiness of her people. Regardless of what the lords around her said, the girl was the greatest of all knights and she showed her skill and magnificence through her valor on the battlefield. Even as the former allies of her father mocked her as a child and refused to acknowledge her claim to the throne, even as she assembled her army and rode to battle, her heart would forever carry the wish of true peace._

_Her kingdom, once united and proud, had fallen apart into several warring nations which constantly battled with one another. As the small girl who donned the armor of a knight drew her sword for the inevitable clash with the hostile army, the light of her people steadied her hand and guided her heart. The king would never hesitate, for hesitating was the bane of humans on the battlefield and she was not a human._

_If the people needed a king who would not fall victim to the weaknesses of humans then she would no longer consider herself a human. Above her gender, above her race, above her life, she would always remain a king and a king could not rule a kingdom if they fell for a human's vice._

_Driving the blade of marvelous beauty into the chest of the enemy, she vowed to seal away all traces of her humanity, to turn her heart into steel, cage it in iron and to act with only the kingdom's interests first and foremost. For that is the true nature of Britannia's true ruler, to always remain inhuman for the sake of her subjects, if being human meant failing them._

_But even as she locked all emotions and desires away to never feel them again, she knew she could never remove her love for her people, for one could not seal away their love if the act of sealing was made out of that very same love to begin with._

_Such a foolish king._

_Such an utterly foolish king._

_Still, the figure of that petite girl clad in steel, standing with her knights behind her and ready to act, was so stunning it could not be described in words. As if the moon and sun did not dare to interrupt the scene, the light emanating from the king was enough to shame them both._

_Such a foolish girl._

_And yet…_

_Such a beautiful king._

_That was why it was a shame, that the sword in her hands would never be wielded again._

**AOB**

Shirou had the strangest feeling when he woke up. Like the oddest sense of déjà vu, he felt as if he'd seen that dream many times before, despite that he couldn't even remember what he'd dreamt in the first place. He knew he'd dreamt it over and over, but he could never remember a single thing about the dream once he woke up. A maddening feeling, like someone was deliberately holding his dreams in a place where he could not reach them.

Not that it mattered all that much anyway, he just didn't like the feeling of waking up and not remembering something. It was an awful way to start a day since it made him paranoid of forgetting anything else. Every time he left the tavern he needed to triple check everything he required, something which drove Rowland nuts it seemed.

Today appeared to be one of those days, a day when he'd have to second guess himself at each turn. His bag would need to be inspected to make sure he had everything Vortimer had told him to bring with him when they left…

They were leaving today!

Vortimer had informed him they were leaving for the Western Forest today before dawn. He'd been so nervous for his first battle against a human that he hadn't been able to sleep at all. He'd tossed and turned in bed the entire night, only managing to fall asleep when his exhaustion proved too much for his teenaged body to handle. His eyelids felt heavy and his movements sluggish so it was likely he hadn't slept that long either, despite his desire to do so. A quick look at the window showed a few rays of sunshine rising from the horizon, telling him it was morning. He couldn't have slept for more than a few hours then, judging by the extremely tired state his body was in.

Flipping his legs off the bed, he sighed when he tried moving his arms. The numb feeling in his right arm told him he'd somehow managed to stop the flow of blood in his arm while sleeping, most likely from his awkward sleeping position. Shaking his heavy right arm to hasten the blood flow into the numb limb, he used his left arm to pick up his shirt. Getting dressed with a partially paralyzed right arm proved to be a challenge, but when one had the willpower of Emiya Shirou, the task of putting one's clothes on didn't even faze him, although it took a full ten minutes before he was done and by then the arm had already returned to normal.

Picking up the bag he he'd bought the day before, he began packing the various items he'd been told were necessary for traveling. Some were understandable, others were not so understandable. He knew he was in the middle ages, but it seemed so very odd for a knight to tell him he should bring his own bedsheets, since there wouldn't be enough tents for everyone and those who did not bring their own would be sleeping outside. Luckily he didn't have that problem since he could simply trace a tent, but he still found it improper for the army not to supply its soldiers with proper equipment. Even an overcrowded inn would be better than to sleep in the cold night air.

Although the alternative was even worse, considering the nature of the army. If a force of four-hundred people marched into an inn and demanded service, then it wouldn't be long before the soldiers started taking advantage of the owners and servants. He had seen plenty of soldiers try to cop a feel on a serving girl in the tavern when they thought nobody was looking. He thought he would have to intervene, but Rowland had beaten him to it. A single smack on the head had sent the soldiers stumbling to the ground. When they angrily demanded to know who had been so brazen as to attack them and Rowland stepped in, the tavern owner's muscled and gigantic build coming into view, the soldiers had wisely retreated to the camp. After all, why risk your life in a tavern when you will have to risk your life on the battlefield in just a few weeks?

Shirou was pretty sure Rowland would have only hurt them enough so that they wouldn't be making a fuss, but would recover in time for the invasion.

So perhaps camping was the best alternative for the army, considering the impoverished state of the southern villages. Instead of the invading army, most villagers feared their own army when they came marching through, demanding food and shelter. The villagers didn't have any choice in the matter, since it was law to aid the duke's army in any way they can, but some soldiers took their new privileges too far. Rape and pillaging was expected of the enemy, but to think that the defenders would go so far as to do it made Shirou's mind freeze.

That appeared to be why Ludvig had set up camp a distance from Blackbay and why Vortimer told his troops to acquire their own tents and equipment. Even if the duke did not care about the welfare of his people, the duke would notice if his gold and food suddenly disappeared because his subjects were too hungry or poor to pay the taxes put on them. If the reason the profits decreased was because of them, then the duke would undoubtedly vent his anger on the ones in command of the army.

At least that's what he thought Ludvig's reason was. He was pretty sure Vortimer did it because he didn't want the people to suffer needlessly. Compared to Ludvig, Vortimer seemed more social and just in his treatment of the commoners of Albion. He was certainly nobler than Ludvig, that was for sure. The younger knight had argued with Ludvig more times than he could count on the treatment of the surroundings area and its people, something which had somehow split the camp into two factions; Ludvig-faction and Vortimer-faction. Shirou had so far been unable to actually do anything to sway either side since he had no idea what they were talking about, but he was technically sworn to honor the deal he had with Ludvig. If there was a chance that Ludvig wanted him to support his decision then he'd make sure he held up his end of the bargain, since he needed to ensure freedom of the saxon prisoners. Doing anything which could be perceived as betrayal would give Ludvig grounds for going back on the deal, so Shirou would have to make sure he didn't do anything which could even remotely be considered as protesting to Ludvig's orders.

Argh, why did everything have to be so complicated? He had to worry about the invasion and training before, but now he had to think about politics and manners as well. Couldn't the Saxons just invade and fight so he could be done with everything already? He was tired of tiptoeing around everything like it was made of glass. He had to make sure the archers were ready to fight and make weapons for the infantry, why couldn't they just leave him alone so he could focus on those two things? Instead he was capturing criminals and executing them on the orders of some guy he didn't even like and who was fighting this war out of greed. Kiritsugu didn't mention anything like this, his stories were always short and to the point. Sneak into the country, assassinate the leader of the conflict, ensure the next leader wasn't going to follow in his predecessor's footsteps to cause another civil war, and then sneak out of the country. Those kinds of stories were what Kiritsugu had told him, not this political agenda-nonsense.

Stuffing socks and underwear into his bag, he sighed in frustration. There was nothing he could do about the situation right now, aside from killing Ludvig and the entire Saxon army before the invasion commenced and he doubted he could do either of them without causing the downfall of the Southern Army. Ludvig was the reason the army had been so successful to begin with and his death (while it would help the more honorable knights to take command) would cause chaos in their ranks. They would without a doubt lose when the Saxons arrived to begin their invasion. The only way to stop that would be to destroy the saxon army, but he had no way of doing that short of unleashing Scarface on them. He didn't have any Scarfaces to spare at the moment, his last one had met an untimely death just a few weeks earlier.

Grabbing the sword he'd been given the day before, he drew it from the scabbard. The silvery steel gleamed in the morning sun, the metal shining like a cold star in the dark of his room. He'd be wielding Cortana in the upcoming conflict fighting with his life on the line. How many lives would he be taking with the sword in his hands? Dozens? Hundreds? He didn't know, all he was able to say for certain was that he'd be doing it for what was right. He'd be doing it to protect the people of Blackbay, to protect the innocent people who would be sure to suffer if the Saxons were to win the battle which would soon be upon them.

Sheathing the sword, he secured the scabbard's belt around his waist. He didn't have time to waste, not when he already knew he was late for the departure. Vortimer wouldn't leave without him, but it would cast a bad light on him if he was late for the mission. Picking up the leather gloves Rowland had given him, he went through the checklist on last time.

_Merchant cloak AKA The Donkey Coat?_ Check.

_Sword, shield and dagger?_ Check.

_A blanket in case the night gets too cold?_ Check.

_Emergency rations (oats and dried fruit)?_ Check.

_Med kit?_ Double-check.

_Extra sturdy boots?_ Check.

Under normal circumstances the checklist would have been far longer, but with the amazing power known as Magecraft he could simply trace anything he needed, removing the need to carry otherwise pointlessly heavy equipment, such as pots and pans. The army possessed their own overly large cauldrons to cook meals for the entire army, but those meals took a long time to make and the lines were usually equally long once the food was done. Most soldiers tended to bring their own cooking equipment, prepare their own meals, with their rations, combined with whatever they could gather from the area they were in. Shirou had been thinking about trying to sneak into the army's kitchen to cook for them, but the chefs had been rather adamant in not letting him. From what he could gather, the chefs were not obligated to fight since it took a lot of time to prepare food for the entire army and cooking was a tough occupation in itself. The lack of decent cooks had given the men a reason to avoid the battlefield, but Shirou's presence was a threat to that safe haven. If Shirou was able to cook enough food for the army, then the value of the chef's job would decrease and they'd have to fight on the frontlines, a thought which would send a chill down anyone's spine.

Despite his best efforts, he'd not been able to convince them he couldn't create such an outrageous miracle. Create weapons by the dozens? He could do it in his sleep. Cook enough food for an army? Not a chance, at least not with medieval methods. In his modern kitchen with lots of time and practice perhaps, but not in this day and age.

Picking up the leather bag , that he'd bought from a traveling merchant, he left for his first official mission with the army.

He just hoped the uneasy knot in his stomach would dissolve already.

**AOB**

The white walls of Camelot never ceased to amaze Arturia, even as she looked out from the top of the highest wall for what felt like the hundredth time. Never in a thousand years would she ever be able to see such a sight again. The stone could have been carved from alabaster, but it still would not have been as impressive as what her ancestors had built when they laid the foundation of Camelot. Not the castle, of course. She had been the one to order the construction of Camelot, but the walls protecting it. The purity of the white stone which protected her fair city was beyond the talents of mortal men of her age, that she knew as surely as the mountains and valleys were beyond the skill of those before her. She had spent enough time up here to be certain of it.

From the sheer height, to the immense width, the walls of Camelot were without equal. It was why the southern wall was the favorite corner of her kingdom. While the guards came and went, the only sound she heard when she looked out at the sea was the wind, carrying with it the salt of the ocean and the raw youth of the sky.

She more often than not came here to think. The silence offered by solitude was sometimes more rewarding than the advice her knights would sometimes give her. Ever since she had pulled Caliburn from its marble sheath, and claimed the throne of Britannia, she had been surrounded by people bombarding her with advice and warnings. It had been hard to make out the actual meanings of what the lords and knights had said when everyone was saying it at the same time, each trying to make their own voice heard over the cacophony of noise. Today had been one of those days.

The decisions she had to make as the king affected the entire kingdom, from the highest of lords to the lowest peasant. How was she supposed to decide when she couldn't even hear herself think over the shouting match the nobles had made of her court? When even Lancelot and Gawain, men who had spent their entire lives in and around the courts of their homes, started to reach for their swords in barely repressed anger, she knew the court was over for the day. Thanking the lords and ladies for their time, she had walked to the wall as fast as the king was allowed to walk.

Now she was here, basking in the soothing calmness which was her haven. The caress of the wind and water in the air revitalized her, for she needed it after the news she had heard today.

"Out here again, Your Highness?" Gawain's cheerful tone broke her from her thoughts. Turning around, she saw the Sun-Knight standing by the door. Clad in armour shining like silver in the sun, Gawain possessed the appearance of a king and the charisma to match. He had however no desire to rule, his wish instead being to serve her as her stand-in and knight. She could never thank him enough for his loyalty.

"Do you really need to ask such a thing, Sir Gawain? It should have been obvious I would come here after the court was over." She said, her voice formal, but not unkind. A king could not be seen being too friendly with one knight and neglect another, even if the knight in question was her substitute whenever she left the castle.

"But taking anything for granted when it comes to a king, or especially when it comes to a king can be hazardous for one's health. The other knights think so as well, they have made it a habit not to linger around the wall after court, lest they disturb you in your thoughts." Her knight explained happily. He might have meant it to cheer her up, but it didn't have the effect he had been hoping for.

"Why would they do something like that?" She said. Her presence should not have any sway over their activities. If the knights avoided the southern tower simply because she liked to spend here evenings there then it would simply become a weakness in the castle's defences. Her solitude was not worth the risk of losing the castle.

"They believe anyone who disturbs you would fall out of your favor and lose their status as nobles. Not an admirable fear, but one all noblemen possess at one point in life." The knight of the sun said, a smile tugging at his lips. The knight in front of her had no such fear, he was far too noble for such a thing. To Gawain, a man who shined as brilliantly as the sun, fear was nothing more than a distraction.

She grimaced at the revelation. Status was not something to hoard like a dragon would a treasure. Status and nobility was a reward for hard work and dedication. For them to shirk their duties for the sake of their pride was contemptible. It was just another piece of bad news, albeit not even half as bad as what she had previously heard when she was holding court.

"You are troubled by the news sir Lancelot brought back?" Gawain asked, when he noticed her expression. He was very observant for a man who cared little for politics. It must have been his talent for battle which allowed him to notice her troubles. He was one of the greatest swordsmen in Britannia and it showed in his daily life. He never went anywhere without his trusted blade, not even when they had hosted a feast for sir Lancelot did Gawain leave behind his sword.

Not that she could blame him. Caliburn rarely left her hip either.

She schooled her features into a perfect mask, hiding any traces of worry behind a wall of iron. "I found the implications to be far more troubling than initially feared, yes. I had hoped for something else, though I would much rather know about it than to remain ignorant." She revealed. If what Lancelot had said was true then dark times would be sure to follow.

For years they had used birds to deliver letters, ranging from pigeons and crows to hawks and falcons. Each bird had its specialty and was suitable for its own purpose. Urgent news was delivered by crows and falcons, due to their speed and ability to blend in, making them useful for military letters. Up until now that is…

Sir Lancelot and his men had been traveling near the border to Cornwall when he saw a falcon get shot down by an arrow fired by Cornish archers. After a short confrontation involving Lancelot hunting the archers down and questioning them, he found out that they had orders to shoot down any birds flying near the borders to prevent any communication between Britannia and Albion. Stopping the messages between allied kingdoms was not an unusual thing to do, especially not when peace was strenuous at best, but to disrupt the communication between two kingdoms completely spoke of war more than anything else. King Mark of Cornwall did not want Britannia to contact Albion, or vice versa.

The timing was also suspicious. Albion was on the brink of war, with an invasion looming over their shoulders like a tactless parent. Even Mark, spiteful as he was proud, could see that allowing Saxons to gain a foothold on Britannian soil was a foolish idea. Without knowledge of what was happening in Albion they could not create a plan to help their allied land. Even if they had not been allies, Arturia would still have been bound by her blood to help her uncle in times of need. He had been the only duke not to declare his duchy a kingdom independent of Britannia. For that, if not for the blood she shared with him through her father, she would aid Albion. She would not let her last non-hostile relative fall victim to the Saxons.

In order to help him however she needed to know what was happening. She could not march her entire army over to Albion just to help him, not when the political climate was as hazardous as the sea in a storm. Not only would it leave Camelot unprotected and vulnerable, but because she would have to fight her way into either Cornwall or Ritho to reach Albion. It was either that or to go through the Nevermoon Forest, but that could take _months_ with an army behind her. She would have needed to prepare a force ages ago if she would have had any chance to aid Vortigern in battle.

Was this why Mark had ordered the messages to be intercepted? For months she had received replies assuring her everything was under control, but what if those messages had been fake? A ruse to leave her thinking Albion was safe and to give Mark the chance he needed to invade, it would have been a perfect excuse. Rather than to let the Saxons gain power, he would swoop in and chase them away. Albion would of course fall under Cornish rule, giving Mark total control of the south and the trading routes to the continent. As if that wasn't bad enough, if the rumours about Mark and the princess of Ireland were true then soon both the west and the south would be under hostile control, an outcome which could not be allowed to come to pass.

How could she have been so foolish?! She had been so focused on Ritho and Rheged that she had completely ignored Cornwall. The negotiations and peace summits with Mark had not been all that successful, but neither had there been any conflicts. In that small gap between hostility and respect, Arturia had found herself wishing for that possibility of a truce. Was she not allowed to hope for a peaceful solution with her father's former vassals? Was hope too much to ask for?

The mere notion of hope felt so ludicrous in hindsight she wanted to kick herself for it.

"I agree, though truthfully I still find it hard to believe Mark would do something as heinous as this. Even if Albion isn't allied with Cornwall, to go so far as to weaken them before the invasion, I'm at loss for words to describe the cowardice of the act. To think a lord of Britannia had become such a craven…" Gawain said morosely. Arturia couldn't help but to agree with his words. Even if it was a viable military tactic to allow two enemies to weaken themselves out before invading, for Mark to use it on a fellow lord was inexcusable.

"It hardly matters if Mark is honourable now, not when lives are at stake. We cannot afford to stand by when our allies are overrun because of cowardly tactics." She steeled herself for the coming storm. "We must ensure Albion does not fall at the hands of the Saxons or the Cornish. Are you fit to travel through Nevermoon forest anytime soon?" She asked the knight of the sun.

Gawain smiled at her question, as if he had been waiting for the question all along. "Give me a day and I will ready to spill saxon blood at your command." He said, kneeling in respect.

"I want you round up five -hundred men and head through The Nevermoon. Find out what's been happening and send a messenger back. I leave whatever happens in your hands, whether you decide to call for reinforcements or to return to Camelot, the judgement is yours to make. All I ask is that you show the Saxons what a true knight is capable of." She gave the order with finality, her eyes harder than granite. She would not allow her kingdom to fall into ruin. She would fight hellfire and brimstone before that happened.

"Yes, Your Majesty!" Gawain replied, his own eyes filled with resolve and determination.

Mark of Cornwall had mocked the dragon and the dragon had awoken.

Now he would learn to fear the flames.

**AOB**

"What's wrong, sir Emiya? You look like someone just shoved a blade in your gut." Vortimer asked somewhat amused. The knight was riding a pure white stallion, slightly larger, but less muscled than Kuro. He was dressed in a blue shirt and dark pants under a long cloak. A large golden lion covered the cloak, its shining form taking more room than the crimson fabric the cloak was originally made from.

"Nothing's wrong." He said quickly. "I'm just not… used to riding long distances. The longest I've ever ridden a horse before was an hour at most so my legs are kind of dead right now." He admitted, his legs agreeing with every lance of pain they were sending each time Kuro took a step.

They had been marching for six hours by now and, even though Shirou was riding a horse, he felt like he had just run a marathon at top speed. His legs had been rubbed raw from the friction between his thighs and the horse's sides and sometimes Kuro would change pace without Shirou meaning it, resulting in an unexpected impact of Kuro's back and Shirou's groin. He knew he hadn't developed the skin for long durations of riding, but he had expected more out of his body. He'd spent the last few days riding several times a day in order to prepare his muscles for the strain of horse riding, but it seemed to have been in vain.

"Ah!" Vortimer exclaimed. "I see. If it's any consolation then know that everyone who has ever ridden a horse has felt the same pain you're feeling right now. It is an inescapable agony if you're a horseman in times of war, to spend many hours in the saddle without pause. Trust me, in a few days you'll be fine and a few hours on the trail won't be an issue. It's the first few days that are the most troubling." He said, offering a smile filled with sympathy and amusement. How the knight could be as sincerely sympathetic as Vortimer while drawing pleasure at other people's misfortune was beyond Shirou, but he accepted the gesture either way.

"Thanks, but I'm currently in the first few days so I'm probably not going to be much fun to talk to right now. Shouldn't you be inspecting the company right now?" The task of ensuring the entire force arrived in time was the responsibility of the Commander and his second-in-command. Since Shirou was another captain, but not in charge of the company he was traveling with, it was up to Vortimer and his 'Lions' to round up the stragglers.

It was quite interesting to see how a medieval army marches to its destination. Since they were supposed to be as inconspicuous as possible (a task made difficult by the large number of them), using drums and other instruments to keep up the pace was kept to a minimum. Even if it would take days for the army to reach the western forest (more than a week to be precise) news of an army on the move travels fast and they wanted to take the Cornish forces by surprise. The only auditory signals allowed were the Commander's trumpet (meaning START and STOP) as well as the many yells the different soldiers used to be heard. Otherwise they were meant to be as quiet as possible, aside from the loud marching of four-hundred men wearing armor and carrying weapons. The loud clanking of metal could be heard for miles, but they were safe since they still had days of marching left.

"I left it to Samson, The Hammer of the Lions. He's the man who looks like one of his grandparents was a giant, if you're curious." He said jokingly, but Shirou wasn't sure it was far from the truth. The giant man made Rowland look tiny in comparison and his weight was no small joke either. Shirou hadn't seen him ride a horse because there wasn't a horse large or strong enough to carry him. Instead he simply walked ahead of the army whenever he needed to, his long legs carrying him three times the distance a normal human could in a single step. His only weapon was an enormous war hammer, larger than anything Shirou had ever seen in his life. The handle alone was longer than he was tall and the metal used in its creation must have cost a fortune. He could make hundreds of spearheads if he was able to get his hands on that war hammer, although he doubted he would be able to convince the man to give him the weapon. The half-man, half-something guarded his hammer with more zeal than Taiga guarded her shinai.

"So that's his name? I didn't know, he felt so out of place I was afraid to ask," Shirou admitted without a single shred of guilt. There was no precedence for dealing with giant humans so his hesitance could be understood.

"Aye, he looks like a monster, but he's as gentle as a puppy. The kids in Londinium love him, probably 'cause he lets them ride on his shoulders all the time. He's the kindest soul I've ever met, unless you attack him of course. Then he's about as nice as a hellhound with a toothache." Vortimer explained, chuckling at the last part. Shirou failed to see how the monstrous beast of a man could ever be called gentle, especially after he had seen the man rip the head of the cow meant for the camp's dinner, but something Vortimer said interested him.

"He's from Londinium?" He asked.

Everything he had heard about Londinium had been odd to say the least. It was Albion's greatest city, mostly due to the fact that it used to be a roman settlement before the romans left and merely continued to grow afterwards. It was where the duke's court was held and where the most famous and skilled knights resided. For Samson to reside in Londinium without being hunted down like a monster was… yet another mystery.

"Yes, all of my lions live in Londinium. They are part of my household after all, it would be strange for them to live elsewhere." Vortimer answered his question without a moment's hesitation.

"So you own land in Londinium? Like a noble?" Shirou asked hesitantly.

Most knights were of noble birth, but a few knights could have been commoners before they were knighted by the duke or his vassals. He had learned early on that asking someone if they were noble was a rude question, because it meant they looked like they were commoners if you couldn't tell they were of noble blood right away. It was made even harder to tell noble knights apart from the commoner counterpart since he only saw them in their armour and all knights wore fancy plate mail. Finding out if someone was a nobleman had gone from a simple question to a series of complicated investigations, an entirely unnecessary change if you asked him.

"Quite so, my estate is to the east of Londinium, a few miles past the Great Wall. It's a place of rest for weary souls, and any soldier is weary after a war. When they are not training their skills, my lions help to tend the field and livestock. Most of Londinium eat crops from my lands." The knight boasted proudly and Shirou smiled at the exaggerated act. His curiosity had still not been satisfied though and he continued his questioning. '

"So what's the name of your family? It must be a famous one, considering you own land so close to Londinium. I don't think you've ever mentioned your family, aside from you mother." Not a single name or title, with the only exception being his mother's status as magus. Not even the other knights had revealed his family name and they were more than eager to refer to other knights by the status of their blood. Shirou was lucky if he could go a day without hearing someone exclaim the name of some count or marquis who was addressing another noble. It was odd that not a single knight had even made a single mention of Vortimer's family, aside from Ludvig's comment about his mother.

"Oh, uh… Umm…" Was all Vortimer had to say. It was as if someone had removed the knight's confident façade and replaced it with pure anxiety. The confident captain looked nothing like his usual self, his eyes avoiding contact with Shirou and a forced smile fighting its way through the shocked expression on his face.

"Is something wrong?" Shirou asked, unsure how to react to Vortimer's hesitation. Even though he had not known the man very long, Vortimer was a very honest person, or so he had come to believe. It was easy to get to know him since he was polite and cheerful most of the time, but it was obvious he was hiding something. That something just so happened to be his family, one of them being a rather heartless magus. Shirou had heard no mentioning of any magus aside from Merlin and Morgan, neither of which had been known to sire a child according to Rowland. Morgan was apparently one of Rheged's rulers and had never set foot in Albion aside from when she had met with Ludvig.

Ludvig had also regarded Vortimer or his father with disdain, not that he viewed Shirou all that favourably either. Did Vortimer's father know Ludvig? A former knight perhaps? Ludvig desperately wanted to become a nobleman, had Vortimer's father done something to elevate him to nobility while leaving Ludvig behind as a knight? It was a possibility, but why wouldn't any of the other knights mention him if that was the case? They could simply be doing it out of fear or respect towards Ludvig. Shirou had seen the Commander chew out a squire just a few days earlier, yelling and insulting the boy until the teenager soiled his pants. Ludvig could be very vindictive when he wanted to be, even when it was over something as trivial as the right combination of wine and water. The squire had not been seen around the war council since, instead leaving his tasks around that are over to another squire, who looked equally terrified of sir Ludvig.

But why would Vortimer not want to talk about his family if they were nobles? Even second generation nobleman he had seen liked to boast of their parents' achievements. Vortimer didn't seem the type to boast about their family's heritage, but he was more than proud of his soldiers. If his men were worthy of being bragged about, then why not his parents?

Could they be disgraced? It would explain why Vortimer was hesitant to talk about them and it would most certainly explain why Ludvig treated Vortimer with such harshness. No knight would want to associate themselves with a disgraced noble, even if the noble in question was a knight as well. Vortimer's hatred of the duke might also be related to it, since it was the duke who decided if a family was to lose their status as nobility, or have their rank lowered as the case was more likely to be. It'd be hard to like the duke if the duke in question was the one to punish one's family for whatever reason, justified or not.

At least that's what Shirou thought was possible. He could be entirely wrong, as was the case every time he tried to solve a mystery in a novel or movie. His intuition wasn't the best, according to Taiga and her grandfather Raiga. He was too trusting of what people said, despite the clear warning signs in the culprit's behaviour.

"No, nothing's wrong! I was merely surprised by your question, I was not expecting you to be interested in the names of nobility. To answer your question, my father is in the upper ranks, though my own rank is much lower due to my mother's actions. In terms of titles, I stand as a baron. I would prefer not to say much more on the subject, it's a private matter, not something you'd want to talk about in the open for all to hear." The knight said stoically.

"Oh, okay then." Shirou said diplomatically. So Vortimer's status as a noble had been reduced because of his mother's actions? That explained his hatred for the duke, being punished for the sins of his mother wasn't something a knight would appreciate nor tolerate under normal circumstances.

He probably shouldn't try to bring up the subject again.

Having avoided the powder keg which was Vortimer's family, he now faced another problem altogether. He had no idea what to talk about! Each time he thought he had something, his brain automatically replaced it with questions of Vortimer's family. Why, or if, they had been disgraced? What were their names? Where did they live? They latched onto his mind like a leech, refusing to let go, refusing to surrender. It took away any chance to start a conversation again.

He was better than this. He could always strike up a conversation with a person, no matter what circumstances they had. It was part of his personality, his charm. If he couldn't be the friendly person who helped whoever asked him to then who was he?

Something to talk about! He needed something to talk about! A topic or such, it didn't matter as long as it wasn't about the weather, he simply needed something to break the awkward silence which had settled.

"Sir Emiya, are you familiar with any Cornish or Irish warriors?" Vortimer asked suddenly, surprising Shirou in his internal search for something to discuss about. Although the question Vortimer has chosen was as random as random could be.

"I don't think so, Rowland might have mentioned one or two, but I wasn't all that interested back then. I know the names of the kings, but that's about it." He answered truthfully. He had never thought Cornwall or Ireland would attack them so he hadn't considered investigating them to begin with. It was ironic, he realized, that the first humans he actually fought in the saxon invasion were to be Cornishmen, not Saxons. There must be a deity out there who had a grudge against him, someone other than Wyrda since she had little reason to carry a grudge.

"I'd find out more about them if I were you. On the battlefield, where men die by the dozens each second, famous warriors like Morholt and Dane, the Ogres of Ireland are seen as pillars of strength more so than their own commanders. Soldiers rally behind them and are empowered by their visage. As long as these warriors stand, the battle will continue. According to military logic, the best way to end a battle would be to defeat these warriors and their commanders. Unfortunately, until now we have not possessed one of these warriors ourselves aside from Samson over there." He said, nodding over to the large man carrying two tired soldiers on his shoulders. The sight was amusing, and perhaps a little bizarre. The soldiers looked more terrified of the man than the prospect of fighting for the first time in their lives.

"Until now, that is to say before you arrived." Vortimer added with a meaningful look.

"Oh."

He didn't know what to say. On one hand, he felt proud over the fact that Vortimer considered him to be one of those 'warriors' men rallied behind. On the other, people would be relying on him to protect them by the hundreds. He was always willing to help someone, but he was only one teenager. How was he supposed to protect an entire army with just two arms?

He could always try to wield two swords…

"Yes, 'Oh'." Vortimer laughed. "I realize I might be putting too much pressure on you, but know that I'm not doing it because I want to. You have become a symbol, Sir Emiya, whether you like it or not. Just like Merlin represents Camelot and Morgan represents Rheged, you have become the magical symbol of Albion faster than anyone could have predicted. Unlike those two however, you actually fight on the frontline, are capable of using a sword and bow, and the forces appreciate it. Even if you weren't a saint before this war started…" he said the last part in a whisper, so that only Shirou could hear his words. "The feats you have performed would certainly make you one after the war is over."

"I hope I'm not seriously being compared to Morgan Lefay and Merlin. That's like comparing a kitten to a lion and a tiger, you know? I'd be mincemeat if I had to fight one of them." He pointed out. Even if he had gained a boost in prana and physical abilities since he had arrived in the Middle Ages, those two were magi from another age when humans were far stronger and Magecraft was closer to magic than it was to modern Magecraft. Humans in his era were weaker and more fragile than ever, he would need a body and Magecraft from the Middle Ages to be able to…

He was an idiot.

He wanted to slap himself, that's how much of an idiot he was. He had been wondering why people were so strong in this age and why he was stronger for some reason when the answer had been in front of his face the entire time. He was in another age! It had been one of the first lessons Kiritsugu had taught him when he actually started learning Magecraft. As the human species grew larger and larger, the essence of Alaya in each human lessened with each generation. Medicine and science had made life easier and therefore more people survived, removing the 'survival of the fittest'-mindset the human race had evolved from.

Shirou had grown up in the Age of Man, but now he was in the Age of Fairies. Of course the humans were going to be stronger and magic was going to be more potent, it came with the territory. The reason he had missed it was because it had been such a long time since he had actually thought about it. Why would he read about the research some old magus had written decades ago when he could be training his projection or reinforcement? He was a practical magus, not a theoretical one! His workshop was a mess of kitchen appliances and training weapons, the last time he had anything resembling research inside the shed in his yard was when he had been practicing alchemy and had been reading about homunculi.

It had been Kiritsugu's idea to learn about them, saying something about his former allies turned enemies. Alchemy had been one of Kiritsugu's demands he learn, whether it was because one didn't need an abundance of magic circuits to learn it or something else he didn't know, but learn it he did. He had more books about alchemy than any other subject in his workshop, though he didn't own too many books in total. Unlike a traditional magus, he barely bought any texts or research about Magecraft at all. Partly because he didn't know any magus aside from his dad, meaning he had to comb through flea markets and bookshops for whatever he could find, and partly because he was careful not to catch the eye of anyone who had a bone to pick with his dad.

It was why his progress in alchemy had been slow as of late. It was hard to learn Magecraft when you only had random books on different aspects to help you.

"You have nothing to worry about. Even if they put you on a pedestal, Morgan and Merlin are legends among men. It'll take years before they start comparing you to them." Vortimer assured him.

"Good, I wouldn't want to disappoint them." He sighed in relief. Something in the forest caught his eye and he reinforced his eyes to investigate. There, a hare was munching on some kind of herb. It had been hiding in the bushes, but had gotten tangled in the branches, shaking the entire bush as a result.

He materialized his bow and notched an arrow. Rabbits and hares were perfect when on the march, due to their large number and quick reproduction. They weren't fat or large by any means, but an army could catch almost all hares in an area without worrying about hunting them to extinction since they could recover within a two or three seasons. Compared to deer and boar, both large and could feed several men, a hare was preferred because of the lack of concern for the local wildlife.

Letting go, the arrow struck the rodent with the force of a rifle, carrying it through the air and pinning it to the tree behind it. The hare was dead before it knew what had happened to it, the arrow having pierced its skull and destroyed the brain. The only sign of it having been recently alive was the twitching of its legs as the animal's energy left its body.

The entire 'hunt' had taken less than two seconds and the surrounding soldiers were staring at him like he was mad. He could understand their confusion though, they had not seen what he had been aiming at, the hare had been hidden by leaves. Jumping off Kuro, he sighed in relief as the blood returned to his legs. Shaking his legs to wake them up, he walked towards today's catch.

It had been an old hare, with a pelt of grey littered with scars. Unlike the rabbits he had caught near Blackbay, this one looked as if it had already one foot in the grave when he had killed it. He'd have to make stew with it, he doubted it would make a good roast, thin and old as it was.

"Catch anything?" Vortimer asked over the sound of soldiers marching. Dismissing the arrow, Shirou turned around and held up his quarry.

"Just tonight's dinner. Feeling hungry?" He yelled back, careful not to get blood on his new clothes. Blood might not be easy to notice on black, but he would feel filthy if he knew he was walking around with hare blood all day.

"Famished! I believe it's time to set up camp, yell if you see a clearing fit for the night." He replied as Shirou tied the hare to the side of the saddle. His backpack had been secured there as well, tied to the back of the saddle, along with his blankets, shield and sword. Despite being a war horse, Kuro carried the weight without issue, displaying the strength several generations of careful breeding had accumulated in. A single hare would make little difference.

"Aye aye, sir." Shirou copied Geoffrey with a smile. He was looking forward to cooking again. Neither the chefs nor Rowland had allowed him to experiment with the different ingredients he had acquired so the chance to finally cook to his heart's content was mouth-watering. He had brought a bunch of spices with him from Rowland's kitchen for the sole purpose of experimenting. He intended to milk this mission for all it was worth.

That said, they continued to ride for another hour before they found a good place to set up camp. When they found a clearing with a relatively large stream flowing nearby it was obvious they'd be resting there for the night. Water meant fish and other animals were nearby, ensuring food for the troops, but it also meant water for the soldiers and the animals they'd brought with them. Horses and livestock needed sustenance just as much as humans did, they require more so in fact. As the soldiers began to fish or took out bows to hunt, some of them led the cows and sheep out to graze. Since they couldn't set up an enclosure each night, a shepherd had been given responsibility of supervising the animals.

Shirou didn't have any responsibilities in general, his particular skills revolved around fighting and were unsuitable in tending to livestock and organizing camps. He'd help if someone asked him, but he doubted they would. People avoided disturbing him as much as possible ever since he revealed his magecraft. He didn't know if it was out of fear or respect, but whenever he made himself useful by helping with a task, the soldiers would insist on doing it themselves and that he shouldn't dirty his hands.

Since he wasn't busy with any tasks concerning the camp, he started his preparations for supper. Firewood was the first step and by far the easiest. Dry wood was preferred, but the small amount of dry firewood they had brought with them was reserved for the kitchens since they would be serving the majority of the army and therefore needed a hotter flame to cook food faster. Shirou had to go into the woods to collect his own fuel, unless he wanted to eat raw meat of course.

Tracing an axe and a backpack for holding the firewood, he began to cut off branches and collecting fallen ones for the fire. Memories of the last time he did this began to emerge as he worked. When he had first arrived in this age, wounded and exhausted, he had made a fire in order to boil the water needed to clean his woods. That had been rough, cutting wood when his ribs were nothing more than splinters barely connected to each other. Now he felt as if he could chop down trees by the dozen, thanks to a healthy diet and plenty of healing spells.

Once his bag was filled with branches of varying sizes, he returned to the camp. The time he had been gone was less than thirty minutes, if his knowledge of the setting sun was correct, but large tents had already been erected. These tents belonged to the professional soldiers, those that had spent their entire lives on the battlefields as a part of a company. Soldiers like Shirou, those who had joined the army for the sole purpose of defending the country, had to bring their own tents or share with others.

Judging by the smell, the kitchens had already started preparing dinner, the smell of grain cooking in the air. Judging by what he had seen the cooks serve the last few weeks, he was willing to bet his right hand that today's meal would be gruel made from cereals again. He couldn't deny the nutritional value, but the taste was as bland as bland could be. Some of the more intelligent men had gone into the forests to look for herbs to add some flavor to it while others added only salt and ate it as fast as possible to get it over with. Lighting the fire, Shirou thanked the stars he wasn't eating the kitchen's meals tonight.

He left the water over the fire to boil, his traced pot resting over three rocks in a three-stone stove. As he traced a cutting board and a knife to skin the hare he had caught earlier, the sound of footsteps alerted him to the presence of another. Glancing back, he was met with the sight of…

A woman and a child wearing civilian clothing of blue and white stood behind him. The woman, he'd guess she was a few years older than him, eighteen at the most, bowed deeply when she noticed his stare. The most stunning feature was her light silvery blue hair, unlike any other natural hair colour he had ever seen. The closest he had ever come across was the different dyes he had seen people use in modern Japan. Her face was the very image of expressionlessness, a stonecold blank gaze which seemed to haunt his very soul with just a stare.

The girl on the other hand sunk down on the knees and did the European version of the dogeza, her face deep in the grass. Judging by the behaviour, the girl was of lower standing than the woman. Both of them had dark skin, but whether it was from long hours under the sun or genetic he had no idea. The both of them looked foreign though, Asian perhaps?

"Can I help you?" He asked politely.

"We were hoping you could." The woman said with only the faintest traces of an accent in her voice. "My name is Rani and this is Mari. I am the wife of Jerad of Shamblefields." She said calmly, her face still facing the ground.

Oh.

Oh.

_Oh!_

"Oh…" he said intelligently.

This was a strange turn of events.

**AOB**

"Thank you." Rani said as she accepted the bowl of stew. Handing over a similar one to the girl, Mari, Shirou took a seat with his own bowl. The stew would have been rather thin serving for three people hadn't Rani offered to share the ingredients she had brought along with her. Carrots, potatoes, onions and mushrooms were soon boiling along with the hare in the large pot, the steam wafting the smell in his direction.

He'd be enjoying the meal a lot more if he wasn't so nervous over what they had to say. As it were, the stew tasted like cardboard and the milk he had received from the shepherd tasted more of water than anything else. That his first homemade meal he cooked himself ever since he had been tossed into this time period would taste like this was depressing, but he didn't care that much about the taste right now.

What did they want? Revenge for Jerad the merchant? He was their husband/master, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think they would want to avenge him, but how would they do it? He had checked the ingredients for poison with structural analysis and they were as clean as a whistle after a quick check. If they had been going for the dagger in the back-approach then they shouldn't have gone together and made so much noise, since even an untrained person would notice them. He was also carrying a sword while he couldn't even see a dagger on any of their persons. No matter how you looked at it, they were probably the worst assassins in the history of mankind.

"So…" He said innocently. He needed to know why they had wanted to talk to him. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

_Smooth, Shirou. Real smooth…_

If Rani thought his excuse was transparent as well she did not show it. Her face could have been carved from rock and it would have shown just as much emotions as she currently was. Instead of answering right away, she instead finished her bowl spoonful after spoonful. When the bowl was empty and she had swallowed the last piece of meat she had been chewing on, she put the bowl down and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I was looking for you, Sir Emiya." She said simply. He would have said she was emotionless, but that wouldn't be quite true. She did have emotions, he could tell by the gleam in her eyes and the posture her body was in, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what they were. Trying to read her emotions was the equivalent of sticking his hand into a hole and trying to find out if the furry thing he was feeling was a fluffy bunny or a rabid wolf. It'd be impossible to tell until it was too late.

"And you're looking for me… Why?" If he had to be the driving part of the conversation then it was going to be long talk. He was awful at questioning people, his lessons with Kiritsugu about interrogations had been one failure after another. He still got shivers whenever he remembered Kiritsugu telling him how to break someone's fingers in the most painful way. He had nightmares about that lesson for weeks.

"Perhaps I should start at the beginning." She offered and Shirou agreed.

"Perhaps." He said, a lame attempt at humour, one Rani did not seem to register.

"Mari and I hail from a land in the distant east called Chera. My husband was a merchant who would sometimes trade with my father. After they decided to merge their affairs into a single company, I became the wife of Jerad to ensure the pact was upheld and the company would run in the family." She explained, her voice never wavering or betraying her emotions.

So this teenager was married to Jerad? The old merchant old enough to be her grandfather was married to someone who had barely completed her second decade on this Earth? The thought sent a shiver down his spine and it made him aware more than ever that this was the Middle Ages. Even so, tt wasn't common to find such a mismatched pair. There was a possibility that it was more because of the country she was from rather than Britannia as a whole. But he had never even heard of the country before.

'Chera'… it sounded Indian-ish. Or perhaps a little Middle-Eastern. To be honest, he knew little of India or the Middle East in the twenty-first century and even less about its medieval predecessor. What little he knew about the India was based on Buddhism and mythology, not the best source of knowledge. He knew even less about the Middle East, only that Islam was the most common religion in the Middle East and they had been very fond of scimitars. It was currently in chaos, but that was it. His knowledge of India was slightly better. He had heard that the India had been divided into several smaller kingdoms similar to Britannia and that it had been one of the first civilizations ever created along with Mesopotamia, China and Egypt. Other than that, who knew? It could have been the world's first bubble gum manufacturer and he couldn't tell you it was wrong.

"And he brought you to Britannia after you married him?" He asked. That was a very long and dangerous journey, especially so considering the primitive ships the medieval shipyards built. At least now he understood where he had gotten the exotic spices from.

"When the trade in my homeland began to wane and our trading partners disappeared, my father and he agreed it was for the best if I followed him to Britannia. That was a few years ago and I've served more as his assistant than as his wife ever since. While he spent his days whoring and drinking, I was trapped in the shop counting coppers and trading wares. I am now an eighteen year old widow with no children trapped in a foreign country of the wrong skin colour and my husband was executed for treason, leaving me and my servant to fend for ourselves. Do you understand my troubles, sir Emiya?" she said coolly, contradicting the meaning of her words. Had any other person repeated what she had just said Shirou would have no doubt they would either said it filled with rage or despair.

Somehow he still couldn't get a single emotion out of her, even when she admitted to her life being ruined for all intents and purposes. He'd be impressed if he wasn't feeling like it was his fault to begin with.

"I think I do. Or not completely, I don't think I can understand what it is you're going through without going through it myself, but I see where you're coming from," He admitted, staring down at his reflection in the steel bowl he had traced earlier.

"Then is it possible for you to help?" For the first time since he had heard her speak, a tiny fluctuation of her voice could be heard, revealing her hope for help.

"What can I do? Just because I'm a magus doesn't mean I can bring people back from the dead. Jerad is gone, no matter what I do," he said hastily. Nothing short of achieving the third magic, Heaven's Feel, would bring him back. She had probably wanted him to bring back her husband to help her leave Britannia. A woman without husband or children didn't possess much status in the middle ages from what he had seen.

"I'm not asking you to bring my husband back. He was a whoring bastard who betrayed his homeland for profit. Even if you brought him back I would not stay with him. His acts as of late have proven what kind of man I married and I do not want any association with that man," She replied, shaking her head. "I want you be my patron."

"What's a… patron?" The unfamiliar word rang in his head. It could have lots of meanings, considering the context.

"You don't know what a patron is?" she asked, amused at his ignorance. The corners of her lips rose slightly in what was most likely the largest emotional reaction he had warranted from her. If he wasn't annoyed at her for poking fun at him he'd be patting himself on the back.

"I'm not from around here," he said shortly.

"Neither am I, but I know what it means," she replied. He frowned at her answer.

"I'm from a place far, far away." Whoever said Star Wars jokes weren't applicable in all situations had no idea what they were talking about.

"Further than Chera? I doubt it." She snickered, concealing her smile with a delicate hand.

"Trust me, it's a lot further away than Chera," he said swiftly, ending the topic. "Will you explain what being a 'Patron' means or should we say our farewells?" he asked, his tone agitated. He had no problem in admitting his ignorance. It was when people tried to rub it in his face that he got angry.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean it like that. A patron is similar to a lord for an unmarried woman without a father. Women don't have the rights needed to own a trading company or a shop unless they're of noble blood so to circumvent this law a loophole was found. The patron would be the owner of the woman, acting in the same way a father or husband would, as he would be the practical owner of whatever the woman owned and he would negotiate for her dowry. In return for his help, he would receive a part of the profits and partial ownership of her belongings after she marries," she explained, her face once again as emotional as stone.

So a patron would be a legal guardian, like Fuji-nee had been after Kiritsugu had died? It sounded good on paper, but…

"Wouldn't it be risky to make someone you don't know your patron? You said they would be an owner of that woman. It doesn't sound very safe to me," he pointed out. Forget safe, they were basically gambling away their future on someone they had only met once and who had been there to arrest their husband/master. If someone he knew thought it made sense then he would have forced that person to a therapist since they were clearly not sane.

"I would have preferred making someone I know my patron, but after Jerad was arrested for treason we have become something akin to a plague in our village. People avoid us out of fear of being seen as traitors by association, a label Jerad put on us without second thought apparently. The only way to get a reliable person to become a patron would be to remove that label, but the only way to remove the label would be to get a reliable patron associated with the shop. We're stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I'm afraid you're the only person who can help us." She laughed bitterly, a dark laugh made even sadder by the fact that her voice was undoubtedly beautiful. "Will you help us? I promise to make it worth your while. We have trading contracts with almost every country from here to Chera, I'm sure you would benefit handsomely from the position as patron."

He didn't even need to think about it. A widow was coming to him, asking him for help because her husband had died and marked her as the social pariah. How could he deny her the help she needed and still call himself an Emiya? Helping people was what he did, it was as large a part of his personality as cooking and swords were.

"If I became your patron, what would I have to do exactly?" He needed to know what he was supposed to do as a patron. He couldn't stay in the shop all day if that was required of him. He still needed to find a way home after all.

"Nothing much, aside from the occasional visits to make the village associate the trading company with you. You would have to add your coat of arms to the building's sign, to show the village that it's under your employ and you would of course need to inspect the wares the shop trades with. The rest would be left to us, the workers of the company. Luckily for us, Jerad was as lazy as he was greedy. He left all the actual work to me, meaning I have been managing the entire company in all but name the last few years. His absence won't make much difference, quite the opposite actually. Now he won't be spending all our money on wine and cheap women, giving us a chance to earn a profit. Thank the gods for small mercies," she muttered wistfully.

_Coat of arms?_

"I don't have a coat of arms. Sorry," he said apologetically. Rani stared at him in shock, her mouth wide open.

"But you are a knight, are you not? And the captain of the archers? And a magician? How can you not have a coat of arms and still be all of those things?" she asked in disbelief.

"Because I've been in this country for less than a month?" he offered weakly. "And I'm not an actual knight, just a knight-apprentice."

"I see…" she mumbled thoughtfully. "If that's the case then you might have to visit the shop more often to convey the message. Would you be so kind as to enquire why you have not been given a coat of arms? Even as a knight-apprentice, a captain and a magus should have the right to bear one, even a foreign one," she asked while bowing, her bright hair cascading from her shoulders.

"Sure, but it'll probably take a while. We have orders which take us elsewhere right now so it might take a few days before I can talk to anyone who knows anything," he explained, hoping she wouldn't take it the wrong way. If she did then she made no effort in showing it.

"That would be agreeable. As long as you can give me an answer by the end of the month I'm sure it will work out. Under normal circumstances the shop would have been confiscated by the army, but since I'm a foreigner they hesitated on doing that in fear of upsetting any nobles I might be associated with in my homeland. So far they have only taken about half of the cattle and crops we sell, but if a powerful patron doesn't help us soon then they'll confiscate everything we own," she said sadly, a sliver of fear escaping her lips. Realizing she might have said too much, she immediately sobered up." If you'll excuse me sir Emiya, Mari and I must leave. We left the shop because we were hoping to catch you before you left, but it has been left unattended for far too long. We bid you a pleasant journey," she said as she curtsied, the girl besides her kneeling deeply instead.

"Of course, it was a pleasure meeting you. If you need anything when I return you can find me at the tavern in Blackbay. It's where I spend the nights so I should be there if you ask the owner," he informed her, bowing his head in respect.

Watching them leave, Shirou sat back down on the rock he had used a chair for the entire conversation. A stray thought appeared in his head and he jumped back up.

"Before you leave, let me ask you this: Why me?" he asked them, raising his voice slightly to make them hear him. The duo stopped walking, the older of the pair turning to look at him. She smiled, an honest smile devoid of bitterness or grief.

"Because you stayed behind to fix the door," she said, as if that explained anything. Rather than to elaborate, she began to walk away once more, leaving Shirou with his thoughts.

**AOB**

"Are you ready to depart, sir Gawain?" King Arthur asked him. The petite (because not a soul in Britannia could deny that he was petite, even if his skill with a sword surpassed all) king was dressed in a blue robe which could only be described as painstakingly beautiful. A thick cloak of fur hung from the king's shoulder, shielding him from the cold winds of winter.

"There is not a drop of blood in my body which is not ready, My Lord," he replied, turning his horse in the direction of the forest. "I only wish the Saxons will put up a decent fight before they die. My shoulders have been getting stiff lately, they could use the exercise," he jested, a smile on his face.

The king gave him a wholehearted smile. "Then I leave everything in your capable hands, my knight." Taking a red scarf wrapped around his delicate neck, the king tugged it loose and handed it to him. "The nights in The Nevermoon can be cold," he said. "I wouldn't want my knight to get sick before the battle can even begin."

Laughing, Gawain took the scarf and wrapped it around his own throat. "That would indeed be embarrassing, wouldn't it? Very well then, with your blessing, I shall now head for Albion and defend it in your name." Turning to the men behind him, he yelled out to the armed soldiers. "Glory to Britannia, glory to King Arthur!"

The storm of voices which greeted him filled his heart with joy. They loved their king and his commands were law. They would set out for Albion and trample the Saxon invaders under their boots. No continental vermin would be allowed to settle down on Britannian soil, not if the king had anything to say about it.

Kicking the horse's sides, he galloped into the dark abyss called The Nevermoon Forest, the forest where it was always night, but no moon was ever visible.

Sir Gawain was on his way.

* * *

**Omake**

"Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen!" Taiga screamed into the microphone. "MC Tiger here, bringing you the first installment of EPIC DISS BATTLES OF THE HOLY GRAIL WARS!"

"Master, ripping off one of the most popular Y**tube-channels is wrong! We'll be taken off the net, sent to jail and be forced to watch Monty Python sketches for the rest of our lives if you keep this up!" Student No. 1 yelled frantically.

They were in the Taiga Dojo, but they weren't alone. All around them stood men and women, almost all of them heroic Spirits, glaring and hissing at each other in hostility.

"Fool!" Taiga screamed. "After the way my mix tape flopped and my political career ended, this is my only chance to get some cash before Grandpa makes me take over the family business." She wept crocodile tears. "It's so boring to sit at home all day and look at reports!"

"But what about Kotomine Kirei? I thought he was the supervisor of the Holy Grail War?" No. 1 asked confused. Taiga smiled at the question.

"The man was so tired of covering up for all the damage caused by the war he gave the responsibility to me. He didn't want to cover up a humongous extra-dimensional demon-god trying to devour the entire city of Fuyuki, especially not when he already had a servant with more mood swings than a 'Pregnant woman on her period'. His words, not mine," she answered, copying the priest's expression and voice when saying the last part.

"Still, you could at least put some more effort into concealing what it is you're copying. I mean, all you did was to change 'RAP' to 'DISS' and instead of 'HISTO…'" Student No. 1 began, but whatever she was about to say was lost to the readers as Taiga swung her faithful Torashinai at the young girl's skull. Blacking out, the girl fell into the arms of her master.

"I'm sorry, Student No. 1. I couldn't allow you to finish that sentence, the copyright lawyers are just waiting for an opportunity to sue. They're like sharks in the water, able to find the smallest drop of blood for miles," taiga said, her eyes narrowed and cold. Putting the girl on a sofa, she once more picked up the mic.

"Well then, I'm sorry for that slight delay! A little interruption in our management, but nothing to worry about. Before we begin the first round, let me explain the rules. Rule No. 1: **No physical violence**! The use of Noble Phantasms is not allowed so to enforce that rule we asked Zelretch to create a Bounded Field which eliminated any and all Noble Phantasms inside the battle arena."

"Rule No. 2: **Only verbal attacks are allowed!** These attacks can be in the form of insults or jokes, but the goal is to make sure you have more VP (Verbal Points) than your opponent. Any and all jokes, insults, disses, raps and sounds are allowed so long as rule No. 1 is not broken."

"Rule No. 3: **Repeating the same thing over and over again is against the rules and means disqualification once the match is over**. Likewise, not saying any insult at all also means disqualification. Besides that, let the disses begin!" the hyperactive teacher/MC yelled.

"In true Fate/Stay Night-spirit, the first match will be Archer VS Lancer! Begin!" A bell was struck and a counter from the ceiling descended, the large sixty counting down to zero one second at a time.

Two figures moved to the center of the room, one blue and one red.

"Hah! This will be a piece a' cake!" Lancer laughed. His red opponent did not find it as amusing however.

"What's the point of having this kind of battle? It's not like there's anything to gain by winning," Archer mumbled. At his words, the loudspeakers boomed to life once more.

"Actually Archer, the winner is given a wish to do anything they want, including severing their contract with Alaya. So I wouldn't be so quick to back out," Taiga's voice roared. Having heard those words, Archer gained a competitive gleam in his eyes.

"Now that you mention it, I've been rather bored lately. Maybe kicking your blue ass around will alleviate my boredom somewhat," he said, grinning in excitement.

"Hah, as if you could do that. And my ass isn't blue, whitehead!" Lancer growled out.

"No, judging by your all male circle of friends, I'd reckon it's your balls that are blue. Haven't gotten any action since Bazett left you, have ya?" Archer teased. Lancer who had been so calm before the match looked ready to kill.

"Shut up, you… You Dickwad!" Lancer said through his teeth, his eyes unnaturally red.

"Speaking of action, do you know what they say about Lancers in bed?" The red-clad warrior asked the blue one. The question seemed to stun Lancer as he hesitated in answering.

"Uh, no?"

"Their 'Lance' might be long, but they're way too fast to make their partners enjoy the 'match'," Archer answered with a grin. Lancer's face turned red, a stark contrast with the blue of his attire.

"Oh yeah, well… Do you know what they say about Archers in bed?" he said, breathing heavily to refrain from attacking his opponent.

"We have longer range than Lancers, we are a lot slower than Lancers, we have multiple shots in us before we finish and we make our opponents 'come' for us. Don't believe me? Go ask Bazett, she's the one who told me that," Archer smirked and Lancer saw red.

"That's it, them's fightin' words!" he yelled as he jumped at his opponent, materializing Gae Bolg in the air. Hurling the red spear, he roared in anger…

Only to realize the Noble Phantasm had penetrated his own heart instead.

"Oops!" Taiga said through the loudspeakers. "I forgot to mention, if you use your Noble Phantasm inside the bounded Field then the Noble Phantasm will attack you automatically. It was a sub-clause in Rule No. 1. Sorry!" she said as Lancer faded away.

"You killed Lancer!" Shirou yelled out, having appeared out of nowhere.

"You bastards!" Archer yelled.

"You're the reason he's dead, you moron!" Rin screamed in Archer's face, having similarly appeared out of nowhere.

"He was a threat I had to overcome sooner or later." His response was fast and calm, but fooling no one.

"You just wanted to get revenge on him for killing you back when you were still a human, didn't ya?" Taiga asked.

"I will neither confirm nor deny such accusations. Although I must admit, watching him get stabbed by Gae Bolg did bring a tear to my eye. A vengeful tear of satisfaction," the Archer-class Servant said, a small smile on his face. "Like when you found out Rin had finally grown breasts large enough to move out of a training bra and bought real…" anything he was about to say was lost to the readers as Rin kicked the back of his head with her reinforced knee.

"Well, that's all folks!" Taiga yelled. "Join us next time when we see the showdown between Gilgamesh and Berserker in the next episode of EPIC DISS BATTLES OF THE HOLY GRAIL WARS! Fly For The Moon!"

"Master, the production staff is here! They brought pitchforks… and they're threatening to reduce the budget for our animation!" Student No. 1, having woken up due to the noise, yelled while she was holding the door shut to prevent the people who were trying to break down the door from coming in.

"No, my long-awaited animation! Student No. 1, don't let them in whatever the cost! If you let them into the story then they'll shut down the entire segment, cutting off the story in midsentence. Do not let them into the…"


	13. Under the Bridge

_What's up! It's been a while since I last updated this story. Some of you know why and some of you don't so let me explain. A few months ago I got a virus on my computer that shut me down and I had to clean everything on my computer. As a result I lost all my notes and chapters on my current stories. That is why I took such a long time to write this, but it's also because this is by far the longest chapter I have ever written. It's 33, 881 words and 58 pages long. The reason I made it so long is because I didn't want to simply upload it after I had re-written the chapter I had lost. If I did that I would have lost the energy to ever write for AOB ever again. _

_I also tried a new method of writing during this chapter. I tried to put in a tactical part of the chapter, but my inexperience of writing such scenes made it awkward. _

_Anyway, I'm going to bed now. It's currently 3: 30 AM in Sweden so God Natt!_

_Special thanks to 7137 for being my beta._

_One more thing! I have recently begun writing my own original webnovel and it would mean the world to me if you would check it out and tell me what you think of it. You don't have to like it, but I would appreciate it if you would tell me what you did like and what you didn't so I would know aht to avoid or improve. All help is appreciated. The link is on my profile page._

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

"My lady, please stop what you're doing! Do you not realize the consequences of your actions?"

The speaker was a black dog of titanic proportions, towering over the humans around him like a mountain over hills. His eyes glowed with otherworldly power, enough so to make the unknowing humans shiver in primal fear.

"Oh relax, Gellert, haven't you ever heard of fun before? You should take it easy for a change; find some bitch to shag. If you want to, I can get the women here to get on all fours and wag their tails like dogs for you. You could create your own little army of hybrids." The dog's mistress said, a cruel smile on her face. The divine entity waved a hand and the women around her screamed in pain as their spines burst through their skin and their hips and grew black fur. After a moment of pain, the women got down on all four and waved their newly acquired tails in Gellert's direction, their dull and lifeless eyes contradicting their smiles.

_'That one can't be older than ten years old,'_ Gellert thought grimly, his eyes roaming over the countless girls who had spontaneously grown another appendage.

They were on the top floor of a rather luxurious hotel, with a view overlooking the entire city. The entire floor had been occupied by the 'Cult of Wyrda' as she had decided to call it. Even the owners of the hotel had become nothing more than her loyal slaves, the former humans' behaviour now resembling that of dogs' more than anything else.

The goddess called Wyrda was sitting on a gigantic throne made up entirely of humans. Twisted and broken, the men and women used in building the throne were beyond salvation by means of science and magecraft. Some had been ripped apart to remove their skeletons and put back together to make up the soft padding of the throne, while others had their bones reinforced with steel rods to ensure the throne was stable enough to carry the goddess on it. Skulls adorned the edges of the macabre furniture, but their owners were not dead. Their skin and musculature had been ripped off and their eyes had been gouged out, but still they drew breath, even as they tried to scream through their non-existent vocal cords. Dozens of men and women had been sacrificed to create the monstrosity carrying the fairy goddess, but she did not show even the slightest hint of remorse, not even as the hundreds of naked humans bowed before her.

"My lady, I'm not interested in rutting with humans; my only desire is to protect you, but what you're doing makes my task impossible! If you continue with your acts then your sisters will find out you have broken out of your cage," he said cautiously. Mentioning Wyrda's sisters was always a dangerous thing to do, but then again, Wyrda was always dangerous unless she needed you.

"My sisters can go and bend over in front of Thor for all I care! Do you honestly expect me to sit back and fade into oblivion like all the other gods did?" When her servant did not reply, she continued her rant, "I have finally been able to leave that cursed era and just when I was starting to have a little fun, you come here to mention them again. How am I to take this, Gellert? Should I be worried that you're going to stab me in the back, just like they did?"

Gellert weathered the verbal storm, his yellow eyes never leaving the gaze of his mistress. "My lady, I would never betray you; I have sworn my life to you, but you must understand the magnitude of your actions. Cities in the vicinity are already in uproar at the humans you have abducted, and the local shrines are being flooded with followers. The surrounding nature is being searched and the spirits are suffering from having their habitat ruined. Even if you are a former goddess…"

"Not former, I am a TRUE goddess!" Wyrda lashed out at her companion.

"My apologies, even if you are a true goddess, the local spirits may not appreciate you upsetting their environment with your kidnappings. They may be but an ant to your grace, but enough ants can kill a lion. If the collected spirits of this land decide to attack you then I cannot protect you, my lady," Gellert said, his voice filled with concern.

While the divine woman in front of him did not look very appreciative of his words, he knew she had understood his meaning. She would have punished him severely for criticizing her otherwise.

"Very well, Gellert, I see your point. I won't be as rash in gathering followers from now on, but it would be most inappropriate for a deity of my stature not to have a cult or two. I leave the matters in your hands from now on; find me a temple worthy of me and make sure my believers learn of my celestial name. I will be having fun with my current followers in the meantime," the goddess said, stroking the chin of a male human.

"Leave it to me, my lady. I will not let you down," the dog said proudly. Bowing deeply, Gellert made to leave when his mistress' voice stopped him.

"Have you taken a look at Shirou lately?" Wyrda said knowingly from her throne. Gellert froze in midstep, unsure of how to respond.

"I went to find out if he had recovered from his wounds, yes. Is there something wrong with the boy?" He asked, his worry buried under layers of steel.

"Not at all, in fact he's flourishing quite magnificently. I never would have imagined that the innocent little boy would become a captain in the duke's army. Quite an amazing feat, don't you think so? Especially with the language barrier of fifteen hundred years keeping them apart?" The grin on the goddess' face would have been called demonic if the face itself wasn't so beautiful. Instead, it looked like the heavens themselves were smiling down on him.

He had been caught, it seemed. Despite his attempts to hide it, his mistress had figured out what he had done quicker than he had imagined. He should have known better than to try and conceal it.

"I took the liberty of casting a translation spell on the boy to help him adapt to the environment. He was your precious replacement after all, I wanted him to have an easy life once he took your place in the seal," he admitted. Wyrda smiled at his words, content now that she had discovered his secret.

"Oh, I didn't know you knew such a useless spell. I thought you were all brawn and no brain," she said scathingly.

"It was nothing more than a useless cantrip I picked up during my years as a stray. It only helps him understand the language to a small degree and lasts less than a month before it wears off, but by then the language will have been learnt and the spell will be useless," he said simply.

"I thought I said meddling in the seal's replacement was to be prohibited. If the seal no longer views Shirou as a viable replacement then it will seek me out and reclaim me instead. Did you ever think about that, Gellert?" He flinched at her words and the meaning behind them. She was implying he did it on purpose, that he was trying to seal her away again.

"I did not think about it at the time, my lady, but if that was the case then would you not also be guilty of that crime?" he responded carefully. He was treading on thin ice, and the metaphorical waters were very deep and dark indeed.

"What is that supposed to mean?" The change in the goddess' demeanour would have been shocking, if he hadn't grown used to it in the millennia he had served her.

"I simply meant that you did not need to share your flesh and blood with the boy to make him an appropriate sacrifice for the seal. Simply giving him the bow would have sufficed to create a connection between the two of you and he was already connected to the fae. I feel you might have gone too far in letting him absorb a part of your divine flesh." he warned her cautiously. Wyrda was never good with criticism.

"You worry too much, Gellert. Is this why you've been sneaking off to spy on the boy? Because I gave him some of my blood? My goodness, you truly underestimate humans and their resistance to magic. I've seen hundreds of humans eat enchanted and divine meat without changing at all, and now you think young Shirou will turn into what? A demigod? Simply because I gave him some of my divine essence? He would have needed something more powerful to have even the weakest of reactions." She laughed at his worries, a lighthearted laughter the humans around them seemed to shake with joy at hearing. Poor bastards, most of them had been stripped of their minds long ago; only their bodies were left to worship their god.

"That was before you were sealed away, my lady. Human have grown weaker over the millennia, the essence of Alaya spreading thinner and thinner with each generation. To compare the human from our era to the humans of Emiya Shirou's generation would be to compare a goblet of gold to a cup made from papier-mâché. I fear you've underestimated the effects your blood will have on young Shirou." His words must have struck a chord within the goddess, because she seemed to visibly flinch at what he said.

"Even so, most of my divinity had been sealed away at the time and I had been a fairy first and foremost when I was in my seal. He can't be that affected by it if he already possessed fae blood, am I wrong?" Wyrda asked, but whether it was to herself or to him he couldn't tell.

"That is if he was descended from the fae. If he simply possessed an object of fae origin then it would still have effects on his human body. That is why I've been monitoring him for any signs of divinity or fae characteristics," Gellert said, his head bowed. Now that his mistress had calmed down and was listening to reason there was no point in steeling himself for his duty. Wyrda would be able to make rational decisions by herself, or so he hoped. It was hard to predict the actions of a goddess.

"And? Did he show any symptoms of such a change?"

"Not from what I could tell, aside from the increased strength and vitality he would receive from Alaya. It may be too soon to tell though, with sudden increase of humanity in his system. Alaya might be suppressing the divinity or fae in his system for now only to release it once his body has adapted to the era. We should be careful not to let him go too far out of our reach if that happens, lest he change the past with his actions," he answered with respect in his voice. Wyrda smiled at his caution and continued to play with her followers.

"The sigils we created will keep him from affecting this timeline, even if he accidently destroys one or two the past will stay as it is. As long as my sigils remain standing then the boy will never be able to break the seal," she said as she casually carved runes onto her toy's skin, her sharp fingernails cutting deep into the man's muscles. Not even a whimper escaped the father of four as he gazed lovingly into the goddess' eyes. Deities were always like this, with few possible exceptions. They had a different view on life and tormenting their devotees was encouraged, albeit with subtlety. He had seen worse acts of torture almost daily when he had been a stray, a time he desired to forget above all else.

The man she had found walking home after a hard day at work had been an average salary man who worked at an average company dealing in office supplies. He had a family consisting of four children and a wife who loved him with all her heart. Being the sole provider of the household, the man was experiencing a large amount of stress in his daily life, but the ordinary human had grown used to it. Until he saw Wyrda that is, the literal goddess claiming his devotion and robbing him of his mind with a single word. Now he spent his days licking at the feet of his mistress and waiting for the day's activity.

Today's activity appeared to be body paint apparently.

"That is why I have been monitoring him, to ensure he does not step out of line. It would not do to have the sacrifice undo the effort you put into the spell," he said, bowing his head in admiration.

"If that's the case, then you may continue your 'observations', but don't do anything else without telling me. I don't want you to destroy what I've been waiting on for years with your compassion for the bug," the goddess in front of him said before directing her attention to the living canvas in front of her.

Recognizing a dismissal when he saw one, he left the room in search of a proper temple for his master. Hearing the blood drop in a steady flow as his mistress continued her art was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

Had he not explained his actions properly then the blood dropping into lakes on the floor might have been his.

"Oh, and Gellert," the goddess stopped him at the door. "If he remembers anything, kill him."

* * *

**_AOB_**

* * *

Waking up inside the orange tent he had traced, he groaned in discomfort. The ground had seemed even the night before, but he must have moved in his sleep because there was a bump in the ground which had stood up against his spine. As a result, his back was aching and he had to stretch awkwardly before he could move properly.

He really missed his old futon-on-tatami bed back home. It had been such a long time since he had slept on a proper bed without waking up to a pounding headache or a numb arm. In fact, he hadn't had a good night's sleep ever since he had arrived in the Middle Ages. That was something he had to rectify. He could use magecraft; he could make the most comfortable bed known to mankind! Why had he not spent just a few minutes before going to bed making an actually comfortable bed to sleep in?

The answer to his question came to him faster than he wanted it to. He had simply been too busy to spare those extra minutes. When he wasn't making shields, spears or training archers, his entire schedule could be summed up in four words: eat, sleep, and visiting restrooms. Five words if he counted the _and_, but he wasn't in the mood for nit-picking. He had planned on training his magecraft and teaching the villagers about the wonders of stirrups, showers, and crop rotation. Sure, he might not remember much about crop rotation from the fantasy light novels he had read about a hero being transported to another world much like this period of time, but he knew the basics surrounding it.

Instead, he was spending his time making weapons and shields, which in itself isn't all that boring. He had learnt a lot about forging from the blacksmith about spears and swords, things he hadn't learnt simply by using structural analysis. The problem with spending his days forging spearheads and making shields was it quickly became monotonous, even with the best conversationalist to help him with the task. Unfortunately, the blacksmith and his assistant were not all that great at making conversation. In fact, making either of them talk using words rather than grunts and growls was a battle in itself.

So instead of forging a proper stirrup, trying to find out who _'Illya'_ was, or creating new mystic codes with runes or formalcraft, he had lost himself in the repeating process of arming the army. He had done a pretty damn good job though, seeing how the Southern Army currently had an excess of spears and shields which would be put to good use in the upcoming conflict. He had even been able to create a few axes based on a tomahawk and war axe design he had bought online.

It was still sad that his projects were being postponed to such a degree that he wasn't able to even spare a few minutes before his tired body sapped him of all his strength, but there was little he could do about it. Instead of spending his time lamenting it, perhaps he should get up and do something about it?

Throwing off the purple sleeping bag, he quickly got dressed. He had actually been able to fix his clothes a little, despite his busy schedule. Before, he had to tuck his pants into his boots and tighten his belt to keep his sweater and tunic in place. Now, his pants looked more appropriate in terms of length and girth and his tunic wasn't baggy enough to look like some low budget rapper's stage outfit. It actually looked as if the clothes were made for him now, even though he would have preferred it if the tunic had buttons and acted more like a shirt instead. Maybe he could fix it the next time he had access to some thread made for fine sewing?

Pushing whatever he didn't need at the moment into his backpack, he dismissed the tent and watched it vanish into thin air. Despite having existed for more than eight hours already and having faced the rain and wind all night long, the projection had showed no signs of vanishing. Resisting the urge to pat himself on the back, he couldn't suppress the feeling of pride swelling in his chest. A few years ago his projections would have collapsed into nothingness hours ago, but now he could trace objects well enough to make them last hours. This was true even before he came to Albion/Britannia, the increased strength of the era being only icing on the cake. It was a shame he still couldn't learn much more than projection, reinforcement, runes, formalcraft and alchemy.

At least he was going to put those few branches of magecraft to good use. First off, a good pair of stirrups.

He knew that using projected material would be useless, seeing how they would disappear after a day had gone by. So he had to use already existing material instead for his little project. Metal was out of the question from the start; the army required all the steel it had as well as other similar metals. He had even seen a man swinging around a bronze axe in training. He had immediately given the man an axe made from actual steel and a shield to practice with. The thought of a man going to war with a bronze weapon was more shocking than anything else he could imagine at the moment. Against chainmail and gambeson it would be less effective than a club seeing how the soft alloy would be unable to hold an edge against metal and the gambeson would absorb most of the impact. With a steel axe the edge would be maintained even after a few strikes against metal armor.

So where would he get the material needed for the stirrups then? He could make them from stone or wood he supposed, perhaps animal bone? Wood and stone were easy to find, but animal bone were superior magical material. Since he was using alteration to alter the shape and durability of the material, it would be better to carve them from bone. What kind of bone would he use though? The rabbit from the night before had pitiful bones and he would feel insecure even if he reinforced them to the limits. Would he have to go out and hunt down a deer for his stirrups? Or perhaps…?

Digging into his backpack again, he tore out everything he had just shoved into it. Reaching into the very bottom of the bag, he found what he was looking for: the vertebra of a lesser warg, one of the few killed back at the den by Scarface and his pack. He had gone back to make sure they were all dead and to collect whatever mystical remains he could find. Until now he hadn't found a proper purpose for the pelts and skeletons so he hadn't started working on any of the complete skeletons in case he discovered a way to use the entire skeleton of a warg in a ritual of some sort. He figured he would be able to experiment with the bones from the wargs from the den so he had packed three of them into his backpack. Now they got the honor of being his stirrups.

He activated his circuits and felt a warm sensation spread from his chest into his arms. He needed to use both alteration and reinforcement to form the hard bone into the shape he needed them to be. Seeing how the vertebra was already shaped as a circle with a hole in the center, all he had to do was increase the hole's diameter and flatten the side which would become the bottom. The process of the vertebra became the loop which would have a rope or leather string tied to it so he could attach it to the saddle.

The moment he started, he realized it would be slightly harder then he initially thought. The bone possessed the same ability its owner possessed in life; the ability to absorb prana. He would have to feed it enough prana to overwhelm its natural absorption while simultaneously altering its shape and characteristics. He needed it to be harder than it naturally was, but at the same time he also needed it to be soft enough not to break in the middle of combat. His swords, when reinforced haphazardly, tended to do that a lot. Making the edge sharper and harder was useful when trying to cut through hard materials, but the blade would chip or shatter if he didn't make sure the metal was soft enough to take that kind of abuse. While making something hard and soft at the same time sounded paradoxical, it was vital information for any swordsman.

Now he had to apply the same principal to his stirrup prototype.

The bone gradually became hard enough to survive hard abuse, at least he hoped so. On the Mohs' scale of mineral hardness, he guessed the bone in question would land on a solid seven. Even so, it still had a softer core inside the vertebra capable of bending as he applied pressure to it. Looking at the bone, he was satisfied with the results. It looked decent, with the smooth surface and soft curves. The flat bottom was completely straight, but the outside of the corners were rounded to avoid injury to Kuro's sides. Even the colour-

-Was black?

As he held the large vertebra in his hands, he could see a dull obsidian colour cover the ivory white of the bone. When the black was about to reach his fingers, he dropped the bone to the ground. He didn't care if it made him look stupid, he wasn't touching something until he was certain it wasn't contagious. For all he knew, it could be a curse related to the unnatural cold the wargs had brought to Blackbay. It might even transfer the curse over to him.

Tracing a sword covered in Sowilo and Ansuz runes, he held the zweihänder high above his head in what would be a very impressive overhead strike after he reinforced his muscles and bones to the maximum. It was one of his more combat oriented mystic codes, one he had created after he defeated Scarface in case he needed to fight something similar ever again and would spew forth an intense inferno once he let it drink some of his prana. It wasn't a very agile blade in his hands due the immense size of the blade, but it carried an impressive amount of power thanks to the weight. Even if the bone held a curse in its now black interior, a swing of his blade would incinerate it on the spot. The moment it showed any signs of malicious intent it would be no more.

Five seconds passed…

Considering the time it took for it to completely cover the large vertebra, the curse or spell would have activated by now. Even if the warg it previously belonged to was a lesser warg or if it was from an incomplete skeleton, he had fed it enough prana for whatever curse it carried to completely charge up and attack. Seeing how it wasn't turning the ground into frozen tundra or killing every tree in the area, he analysed it before he made up his mind. No need to be hasty after all, what if it actually wanted him to destroy it to release the magical energy it had accumulated?

"Trace on."

The first thing he noticed was the hardness and durability of the bone. Nothing wrong there, he had just reinforced it to make it better as a stirrup. It still retained the ability to absorb prana, though the amount it was capable of absorbing on its own was so miniscule he doubted it would be able to make the grass around it shrivel even if it laid there for a week. The internal structure was softer than the outer surface and the bone wasn't rejecting the alteration he had performed on it. That was a good sign at least, but it didn't explain the sudden change in colour. Did it think white was too last season, had 487 been a bad fashion year? Did cursed bones even have a sense of fashion?

Digging deeper with his structural analysis, he found the answer to his question. It was… satisfied? Although the bone was still absorbing the prana in the air, it was at a pitiful rate compared to what it had been doing until now. It was even less than what he had originally thought it was absorbing. That was odd to say the least. Scarface had never seemed to grow satisfied with his hunger for mana and od, but this tiny little bone was saying it had enough by turning black, of all things.

His curiosity had been awoken and he reached out to pick it up after he made sure it wasn't dangerous. Aside from the different colour, nothing much had changed about it. The bone was cold and smooth to the touch, as if someone had rubbed sandpaper over the surface to make it as polished as porcelain. Even before he had altered the shape, the vertebra had been unusually sleek. It had retained that characteristic, along with the sturdiness it naturally possessed as a vertebra. Was the black colour a natural phenomenon? It was possible that the bones would simply absorb prana after the warg died until it reached a limit and the colour would change, similar to how a body would become pale and stiff after death.

He tried to sense the bone's magical energy, and the scent of blood it had carried until now was gone. The hostility it used to positively radiate with was gone as well, and instead of a possibly evil cursed bone from a mystic beast, in his hands was simply a bone from a mystical beast, simply because the intense hunger the bone had inherited from its owner had been satisfied. There were no signs of a curse or hostile intent, simply a small chill which would probably feel wonderful in the summer.

As amazing as it sounded, he couldn't find anything which indicated otherwise. The black colour appeared to be a normal occurrence once the bones of the wargs absorbed an adequate amount of prana. If that was the case, then there wasn't any problem in using it as a stirrup.

He walked up to Kuro, the calm black mare resting with a group of warhorses. He could see soldiers already saddling their own horses with leather and metal tack, and he realized it was actually rather late to get up. Shirou was an early riser; his morning usually started about five AM. He glanced down at his watch and frowned at the time the hands on his watch showed. How had he managed to sleep until nine AM? Had he really been so tired that he couldn't even wake up before the kitchen started serving?

At least it wasn't his own fault he was so exhausted. Aside from the hours he had spent as a blacksmith, he had been spending the last week riding several hours each day. His thighs and lower stomach were killing him each night and moving in bed (or sleeping bag to be more precise) always managed to wake him with a wince as his sore legs rubbed against each other. Yesterday had been rather mild, now that he thought about it. His legs didn't feel even half as numb as they used to when he spent several hours in the saddle (a saddle which could do with an additional layer of cushioning so he wouldn't feel the wood sticking into his privates as much). He was slowly, but surely getting used to riding a horse.

Somewhere in the camp, someone rang a bell. It was the breakfast bell, meaning breakfast was about to stop serving and if they wanted food it meant they had to hurry up or else they'd have to wait until dinner which wasn't until nightfall. Luckily, Shirou still had some stew left from yesterday to keep him satisfied until dinner and some bread to eat on the road. He didn't need to eat the barely edible blend which could barely pass for the soup the chef called it. Throwing carrots, potatoes, onions, vinegar and warg meat into boiling water all at the same time did NOT make it a soup. Cooking it that way made it survival rations and it should be called as such. The only spice the chefs used was primrose, a flower which grew around Shirou hadn't even known was edible until now.

Speaking of food and spices, he was reminded of his conversation with Rani. She needed him to act as her patron, which was essentially a guardian responsible for a woman. Not that he liked to admit it, no teenager ever did, but he was still a child. The fact that a fully grown (by this age's standards, Rani was an adult) woman had to be under the _'ownership'_ of a child was… He tried to describe the feeling, but words failed him. It seemed as if not a day went by without him being shocked by the immense cultural differences the past and the modern society had. He had always known that women had been considered to be inferior historically; nearly every country in history had repressed women to different degrees, but for a child to have higher standing than a woman was not something he wanted to support. Then again, Rani was in trouble because of her husband's greed, not because she had betrayed the country she was currently living in. Leaving her alone even after she had asked him for help, simply because he didn't like society's ways?

Unthinkable.

So what could he do to help her? The easiest way would be, as Rani herself had said, to become her patron and add his coat of arms to the shop. The problem with that was he didn't really have a coat of arms to begin with. Knights and nobles carried them for recognition in battle, and although he was a knight-apprentice, he wasn't a formal squire waiting to be knighted. He was, for a lack of better words, a mercenary given an unusually high level of command and the title required for such a level. He could ask Vortimer if he was eligible for a coat of arms, however since Ludvig had been the one to give him the position of knight-apprentice and not the duke, he doubted his chances of that happening.

If he failed to get a coat of arms, what could he possibly do to help? He could always walk into Shamblefields and declare that Rani and her shop were under his protection. In truth, it felt like the best option. The villages around Blackbay knew who he was, or at least what he was. A magus who killed magical beasts with a bow, a youth with red hair and foreign appearance, the _'saint'_ of Blackbay. Something told him the fishing villages of Hastings wouldn't want to mess around with the women running a store owned by him.

But the villages weren't the problem, or the main problem he should say. The villagers' cold treatment of Rani and her servant girl wasn't ideal, but it could be dealt with given time. The real problem was the army's possible confiscation of the shop itself. As a foreigner and a woman, the woman barely older than himself was most likely not in the best position to begin life anew if she lost her shop and occupation as a merchant. Shirou was lucky in that he had saved Blackbay from the wargs and had been able to help the army with his magecraft. The attitude people showed him now was vastly different than what they showed him before he saved them. Rowland being the sole exception, the village of Blackbay had initially avoided him like the plague and he had been the target of more than his fair share of pranks, courtesy of Geoffrey. If Rani went through that without the benefit of magecraft… he doubted she'd survive a year as a free woman.

The question was if the army would leave her alone if Shirou told them he was her patron. While he didn't have the authority to pardon someone of their crimes, the army respected him for the weapons he made for them. Seeing how he was the only reason they had enough weapons to fight the Saxons invading in just a few weeks, the act of arresting Rani and taking her belongings in the name of the army or duke meant biting the hand which fed them, or to be more precise, biting the hand which gave them enough weapons to bite the hand to begin with.

There was also the fact that they had no idea how his magecraft worked. He had forged the spears and carved the shields from scrap metal and wood in seconds using no tools whatsoever. If he could make the weapons so easily, who was to say he simply couldn't unmake them just as easily? Not only would they anger the _'wizard'_ who helped them, they would also have to do it without weapons. It would be safer to simply let the widow be, rather than to risk their lives for a few cows and pigs.

…Right?

Tightening the leather cords around the loop in the bone stirrups, he dragged himself from his thoughts. He needed to get some food in his belly before they began marching again. Heating the stew took a while so he had to hurry if he didn't want to eat while riding.

Then again, if he ate while he was riding he could spend more time on his experiments. He could spare a few more minutes on his latest mystic code/tack if it meant he could sit more securely in the saddle. As long as he had enough time to heat up the stew he'd be all right.

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

"You look tired Ludvig; having trouble sleeping?" Edmund said as he walked into the tent. The younger knight (though only by four years) had discarded his armour in favour of a tunic and linen trousers. Well, he and the rest of the knights had as well.

It was common sense to wear at least some form of armour in case the Saxons launched a surprise attack, but common sense was only useful as long as it wasn't hindering their duties. A knight might wear a full set of plate armour or chainmail the first day of warfare, but would only carry a sword on the seventh. The risk of attack was too low compared to the exhaustion they would face after wearing armour day in and day out.

Even he, Sir Ludvig, commander of the Southern Army, was only wearing a jack-of-plates at the moment instead of his favourite suit of armour, and he spent most of his days consulting his other knights concerning strategic affairs and other logistical matters. He had a hard time imagining what the knights and squires who were currently training with their own armour were feeling right now. It had been a long time since he had been a foot soldier standing on the frontlines, long enough for him to forget the pain of training with the pell in full armour.

"Just the usual. It's hard to sleep when I have to approve every damn thing that goes on around here. If there's not a problem with the food then there's a problem with the housing. If it's not that then it's the unfair treatment of work. There's always something wrong with this damn war," he answered tiredly with a sigh.

It wasn't that he hated war, it was quite the opposite actually. War was how men like him rose to power in the world. To him, the battlefield was the same as a potato field was to a farmer. It was how he earned his gold, received recognition and gained the gratitude of nobles. Just like a farmer tending to his field, Ludvig fought in war and battles to become more powerful in life. Without the saxon raids and attacks plaguing the coast side, Ludvig would not have been given the rank of knight.

The issue with this war was the lack of weapons, supplies and decent soldiers. Most weapons had been issued to the Western and Northern army while the Eastern Forces (a group of nobles in charge of the eastern border's defences) hoarded what little was left to defend against the Angles in the east. The Southern army had received the bottom of the barrel in terms of weaponry and armour.

At least the equipment had been fixed by now, mostly thanks to the brat magician the rest of the army was so fond of. A bunch of gullible fools they were, if they had grown so attached to the boy that they were actually treating him like an actual knight. Even if he was supplying the army with weapons in preparation of the invasion, to grant a magician so much authority was a recipe for disaster.

And he had been the one to grant that authority.

He knew from experience the consequences of having a magician in the midst. Fifteen years ago, when Vortigern was still married to Rowena, had been the year of calamity. The witch Rowena had ensnared Vortigern in her spell and made him ask the Saxons for aid in repelling the Scots in the north. Despite the advice from the entire court telling him it was a foolish idea, the man had gone ahead simply because his wife had asked him to.

It came as no big surprise when instead of advancing further up north, the Saxons established themselves on the southern coast, declaring themselves lords of Albion. It had been Rowena's scheme all along, to turn them into subjects of the Saxons.

Fortunately, her son Vortimer had realized what his mother had done and dethroned his father and banished the witch while raising an army to drive the Saxons back to their mother's bosoms. It had worked, and the laws the young _'prince'_ had created were still effective to this very day. Ludvig might have grown to respect the brat, if the boy didn't care so much for his _'lions'_, as well as the foreigners and monsters among them.

The boy was not meant to last long on the throne, however, as his mother poisoned his wine which made him delirious and mad. It took a year for the boy to recover from his illness and by then his father had been able to regain his throne and disinherited the boy, despite Vortimer's success as a duke.

Now the boy spent his days as a lowly baron, although his lands were much larger than what even an earl would lord over as well as being rather close to Londinium and his father's citadel. He commanded over his own mercenary force, _'The Southern Lions'_, and much to his father's chagrin, the group was known for being the strongest warriors in Albion.

Regardless of what he thought of the boy, the only thing he had actually succeeded in doing according to Ludvig was driving his witch of a mother out of Albion. Rowena had caused hundreds of deaths and many more enslaved when she allowed the Saxons into the lands. Ludvig had been part of the army fighting the Saxons, and he had seen what they had done to the people of the White Isle.

The only reason she had been able to do it was because she was a witch, a nefarious magician.

And now they wanted to invite another magician into the midst, simply because he helped arm them for the battle.

How foolish they were, to think the boy was anything less than dangerous. A boy barely halfway into his second decade capable of killing a monster such as the warg, even destroying the behemoth's head? It that was not cause for concern, then what was? How could they not see the parallels? Rowena had come into power by killing the trolls plaguing the northern lands and had later used her power to invade Albion with her father's forces. Yes, she had helped the duchy with her knowledge, telling them how to improve their ploughs and how to better keep bees for their honey, but had later turned on them with her witchcraft. Shirou Emiya was the same; he had killed a monster threatening the duchy and later helped them create the weapons needed to defend themselves. He had even seen the farmer in Blackbay talk to the boy about different farming techniques and the fields the farmer owned were now unusual to say the least.

Even he had been tricked by the boy at first, though he loathed admitting it. When he had seen the brat create a spearhead in seconds he had been surprised and astonished by the possibilities it could mean. The sooner they had the spears ready for the men the sooner they could begin the training necessary to defeat the Saxons. Considering the deal he had made with Morgan (yet another witch he felt disgusted talking to), he knew from the start he would win the war, but the chances of him earning a baron's title decreased as his army did. If the duke thought he had lost the entire army to go plunder the coast side then the immediate profit from the plundering of the Saxon villages would be reduced by the eventual loss in revenue of the farmers and fishermen in the duchy.

If push came to shove he could always break the deal he made with Emiya and give the duke the slaves he had captured, but even if he hated the brat he was unsure of what the magician would do. Breaking deals made with sorcerers and witches… It was only natural he would hesitate.

"Aye, they might be knights of Albion, but they're much too inexperienced for my liking. It's like having children used to playing war fighting in an actual war. Their demands are ridiculous as well," Edmund said, exasperation clear in his tired voice.

"Did the Pomfrey boy ask to go home for a week again? The fatty doesn't seem to understand we're at war and he's training to fight for his survival." Ludvig sighed once more.

"He says his mother is sick with worry and he should be given a week off to calm her down. As if war could be put on hold like some dinner party," he scoffed. "I gave the boy three hours of sword training as punishment for his cheek."

He grunted in agreement. If the _'knights'_ were unable to spend a few months in preparation for war, then they deserved a few smacks to the head. Even if the helmet protected them from serious harm, the ringing in their ears wouldn't stop anytime soon.

"But that's not what ails you, Ludvig. I've known you for a long time and untrained soldiers have never caused you this much trouble. What is it?" Edmund asked, his voice dark and serious.

Should he be honest and tell the truth? Or should he hide for the sake of morale? No, Edmund was his oldest friend and strongest supporter. Amongst the southern knights he was the most loyal and steadfast of them. He could handle the truth.

"I fear I may have been too hasty in my plans for the wizard. I'm afraid I've given him too much power over the troops," he said tiredly. He took a gulp of the wine he had poured earlier and the burning sensation in his throat told him it might have been a bit stronger than he was used to. It was supposed to have been watered down, but this was pure, undiluted wine.

He'd have to punish the wine servant later. He couldn't perform adequately if he was drunk out of his mind.

"You regret making him a knight-apprentice?" Edmund asked, his left eyebrow raised in puzzlement.

"Knight-apprentice, captain of a company, saint, all of it! I was too caught up in ensuring morale was high that I forgot what happens when wizards and witches are given power of the hearts of man. Shirou Emiya might not be an ally of the Saxons, but that begs the question: who is he an ally of?" he said as he put away the claw beaker of green glass.

"You're afraid of another Rowena?" Edmund asked, his uncertainty making its way into his speech.

"What else would I fear? We're beset on all sides and our closest ally is on the other side of the Nevermoon forest. Riding through that forest alone would take a day, and the chances of a messenger surviving alone are abysmal to say the least, and even if our birds weren't shot down by the Cornishmen, it would take a month for an army to traverse the darkness inside. The Southern Army is our only hope, and the Southern Army's greatest hope is a boy without a past or allegiance. If Emiya turns out to be a Saxon or Cornish spy then we're doomed. Now do you see why I think I was too hasty in giving him power?" Ludvig groaned as the pain in his gut emerged.

His father had told him about it. In their family, older men under stress could sometimes experience an intense pain in their stomachs. Considering he had just drunk some rather potent wine and he should have expected the pain to return. How unfortunate; it looked like he'd have to skip lunch today.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Edmund pointed out. "Most of the power you gave him is temporary until the war is over. Without a noble to knight him, the boy will remain a knight-apprentice forever. Vortimer might, but his father hates wizards and witches after what Rowena did to him. If Vortimer tries to make the boy a knight then Vortigern will have both of them exiled," he said as he reached for the beaker of wine Ludvig had abandoned. Taking a generous gulp of the undiluted beverage, the younger knight coughed at the strength of the alcohol.

"F-Furthermore…" the knight continued as he tried to ignore the burning in his throat, even as tears formed in the corners of his eyes. "He won't be captain of a company after the war since the Southern army will have most of it members gone once it's over. It was mostly a temporary army to begin with, composed of farmers and fishermen."

What the man spoke was true, but it did not ease the worry clouding his mind. "And what of his status as a saint? And the love the people have for him? He could start a rebellion with his influence," he pointed out hastily, but Edmund simply shook his head.

"The people like him because he protects them from invaders. If he allows the invaders into the land then it will be a revolt against him. He might have killed a few beasts and give the army weapons, but it's not like they actually worship him enough to take up arms against the army. The people are fools, but they're not suicidal."

Sitting back in his chair, Ludvig mulled over the words of the Field Marshall. His words rang true. There were no men or women in this land who would willingly open their doors to Saxons or Cornishmen after the battles they had fought. If Emiya could incite a rebellion then the duchy would be weakened from the battles, but rebellions were difficult things. Motive, energy, and leadership were required to properly arrange a rebellion, but those three were difficult to acquire in times of war. People recovering from injuries know better than to rush back into battle.

Had he been overthinking it?

No, he needed to reach the rank of baron before the year was over. Shirou Emiya was an enigma which could be used against him, but for now he was dependent on the boy. If he became an obstacle then he could be removed, but until then he could be used for Ludvig's purposes. Perhaps he should take some precautions to limit Emiya's influence? The archer company were sufficiently trained to be split into two groups; he could assign one of his more loyal officers in command of the second group to steer them away from the boy.

Sir Desmond was a good candidate. The second son of a rather poor baron, he was one of the more eager knights under his command. His thirst for recognition was a problem, but it could be tempered with a few false words of praise. Being the captain of the archers wasn't the most glorious of positions, but it wasn't without its own prestige. Between the hundreds of knights fighting on the frontlines and being lost in a heap of chaos and the captain who was visible at all times, which one would be remembered by the duke?

Yes, that was a promising start. At least he didn't feel as if his stomach was about to catch on fire anymore.

"Sir!" a young squire yelled as he ran into the tent. "We have news from our spies among the Saxons. The Saxons have decided to depart early due to a lack of food."

He spoke too soon.

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

"You do realize there is a reason we ring the breakfast bell, don't you?" Vortimer said, amusement practically dripping from his voice.

"Shut up," Shirou muttered as he tried to bring a spoonful of stew to his mouth without dropping it onto his clothes.

"Oh yes, the beginner's mistake of trying to eat food on horseback without accounting for the movements of the horse. To think that even our own saint is not exempt from the rules which bind us mortals in this wretched world, it's a sight for sore eyes, is what it is." The knight laughed out loudly and the soldiers around him joined in.

If Shirou hadn't known who the soldiers were, he might have taken offense to their laughing, but now that he had been able to interact with the _'Southern Lions'_, he was able to understand their characters a bit.

Although it was a bit embarrassing to be laughed at by a group of men, they meant no harm. The soldiers serving under Vortimer were kind men, men who had helped rebuild Blackbay more than the rest of the army had combined. They hadn't even refused building new houses for the villagers on Rowland's request; instead they readily began working wholeheartedly to construct the wooden houses the village had been eagerly moving into.

So even though he gave the people around him a glare, he didn't ride off to stay with the rest of the army.

"I didn't know the ride would be so shaky when trying to eat," he admitted honestly. His plan had been to hold the bowl and the reins with one hand and the spork with the other. The road had been flat and smooth the night before, so he assumed it wouldn't be too much of an issue to ride with one hand holding the reins.

He had severely underestimated the shaking of the horse as well as its ability to scatter his food in all directions. Had it been a sandwich he'd be eating he would have been fine, but since his stew was based largely around water…

He had wisely decided to use alteration to turn his clothes waterproof as soon as the first drops of hot water hit his clothes.

Fortunately for him, only the donkey coat had been hit by the stew and not his actual clothes. He wasn't in the mood for being chewed out by Ludvig for dirtying the clothes he had graciously been given.

At least his stirrups were working perfectly. He was sitting much more securely in the saddle than before.

"Don't worry about it, every soldier with a horse makes that mistake. They spend a few moments in bed more than they should, thinking they can eat in the saddle, and then they spill the soup all over their armour. More experienced soldiers know only to bring solid foods like bread with them when riding. Armour covered in bits of chicken isn't a very impressive sight," Vortimer boasted with his knowledge. Sensing a story behind his words, he narrowed his eyes at the man.

"You sound rather experienced with the last part. Did your armour perhaps get covered in chicken at some point in your life?" he asked the man, and Vortimer froze, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He quickly looked away as if he suddenly found the surrounding nature more interesting than their conversation.

"W-well, I suppose I might have overslept one time and had to depart from the castle with an empty stomach. It's not my fault the maids gave me a bowl of soup instead of something I could actually eat in the saddle!" he defended himself. His reaction must have affected his horse because the white stallion began to speed up before the knight was able to get him under control once more.

So even the calm and collected Vortimer could embarrass himself once in a while; quite surprising considering the poise the man held himself with most of the time. Not that Shirou was judging him or anything, not when he was sporting small bits of hare on his own tunic. Emiya Shirou was not someone who would throw stone in glasshouses.

Unless he was talking with Fuji-nee.

Once again, they were riding along the road leading to the western forest. The roman road was surprisingly sturdy, but Kuro's movements were still sending his stew flying all over the place. According to the map Vortimer had shown him, roman roads stretched all over Britannia, all the way up to Hadrian's Wall. They were greatly preferred over local roads as the wagons tended to sink into the mud of the local, trampled roads.

From what Vortimer had told him, Sir William had left a town called Calleva, but hadn't arrived at the next town of Noviomagus. As his subordinates had investigated, the knight hadn't shown up at the surrounding villages either. The village Sir William would have travelled to was about fifteen kilometres south of Calleva, in the middle of the Western Forest. Since Jerad had not known their exact location, only that they had set up camp inside the Western Forest and would meet up with him near the forest's edge to hand over the stolen cattle and goods, a part of the cattle would be given to Jerad while he would smuggle the rest of the cattle over to Cornwall. It seemed luck was on their side and Jerad had decided to keep all the cattle for himself because he had not handed a single cow over to the Cornishmen.

Sir William's disappearance supported their theory since he was last seen heading into the Forest from its northern border. Once they had asked around a bit, it became clear that every caravan that had disappeared had entered the Western Forest either from the western or the northern roads leading into it. The Cornish soldiers had therefore most likely made their base in the north-eastern sector of the forest and were preying on the travellers who entered it.

They would also have to enter from the northern entrance if they wanted to keep their cover. A caravan traveling away from the army wouldn't use the Western Forest as a route since it was situated on a small mountain and was mostly uphill towards the north. It was the reason why it was such a popular route towards the harbours as it helped the horses pulling the wagon. An ordinary caravan would travel along the outer rim of the forest and take the easier, but slightly longer route.

That meant they would have to make a detour, but they needed the Cornish forces to take the bait.

In order to make their ruse look as believable as possible, they would need to act like they were in fact part of the supply chain heading towards the army. They had brought a large amount of cattle and goats for that purpose, as well as wagons and barrels. The barrels were of course empty since they would be filled by the soldiers who would hide inside them. The wagons with a canopy would be filled with soldiers as well while those without would have bags of potatoes covering the men.

This was going to be Shirou's first battle against humans. He was up against a mostly unknown force as he doubted Jerad had any idea of just how many soldiers he had smuggled into the country. The merchant had, under torture, given a vague number based on what he had seen, but he had never counted them or kept a log of how many he had brought along. That meant the number of troops he'd be facing could be more than the one-hundred and fifty men, he had been told.

At least he knew he wouldn't be fighting alone. Having a hundred soldiers fighting on his side was a pleasant change from when he was fighting Scarface and his ilk with just the villagers aiding him.

"How long will it take before we're there?" he asked Vortimer. They were given a timeframe of three weeks, but nothing else. He was surprised by his own lack of curiosity. Under normal circumstances that would be the first thing he'd ask, but it had actually taken two days before he even thought of the question.

"The distance between Blackbay and Calleva is about forty leagues and with the number of troops with us, I'd say about three more days. We could get there faster if we rushed, but since we're hoping to be ambushed, I wouldn't recommend it. Being ambushed while exhausted is a good way to get ourselves killed," Vortimer, ever the considerate knight, answered.

"So it takes about four days to get there and four days to go back. That leaves a lot of time to spare. Is there a reason why Ludvig gave us such a large timespan to complete the order?" He was under the impression that time was of the essence. Giving them a time frame of twice the time it would probably take to complete the mission was counter-productive.

"Do you want the official reason or the most likely one?" Vortimer asked in return.

"Both." Shirou answered immediately.

"The official reason is because he wants us to be thorough and not let a single one escape. The real reason is most likely that he wants us out of his hair. As you've no doubt noticed, Ludvig does not particularly like either of us. He tolerates our presence when it's needed and would even promote us in order to bolster morale, but if he had a choice he'd be throwing us out of the army head first," Vortimer said bluntly.

"You don't say…" Shirou answered sarcastically. He knew Ludvig hated him; it was hard to miss the disdain the knight held for him. But he just didn't understand why he hated Shirou. Was it because Shirou didn't like slavery and had asked for the slaves to be given to him instead of being sold like cattle? Or was it because Shirou was a foreigner?

"I do say so, I've known the old hawk for quite some time now, and if there's something I know about him then it's that he hates everything related to magecraft with a passion. I'm surprised he allowed you to enter the army to begin with. He's not keen on magi ever since Rowena, our former queen and magus, betrayed us to the Saxons," he said offhandedly.

"So his hatred of Rowena extends to all magi? That sucks, but at least I know why he keeps glaring at me every time I tell him not to raid the Saxons." Shirou sighed tiredly. He hadn't expected Rowena to be a magus, however. Did that mean that both rulers of Rheged were magi? A shiver went down his spine at the thought of facing both of them.

"Oh no, that's simply because you're getting in the way of his profits. Ludvig is aiming for the title of baron, but he can't do that unless he possesses either enough gold or has some serious achievements under his belts. Raiding the Saxons' shoreline would accomplish both," Vortimer waved away Shirou's arguments like they were mere wind and laughed at his expression.

"You knew he wanted to become a baron?" Shirou asked, shocked.

"I doubt there's a single knight or noble in the army who doesn't know about his ambitions. He's been volunteering for battles and conflicts more than any other knight in the duchy. If he was twenty years younger that wouldn't be odd, but with his age and a pregnant wife it's more than suspicious." Vortimer paused to take a swig from his waterskin. "I guess he must have tired from living the life of a knight. His father was also a knight, so he must know the pain of raising a child as one. Compared to that, a baron owns land and is safe financially from harm. The question is how you're aware of his ambitions." He eyed Shirou while taking another swig.

Shirou froze for a second before he realized he didn't have anything to hide. "Ludvig told me he wanted my help in training the archers and said he wanted to become a baron after the war. He mentioned something about needing to leave something to his child, even if it was only a baron's land."

Vortimer seemed to consider his words for a second before he appeared to accept them as the truth. Putting the cork back onto the skin, he handed it over to Shirou. Realizing he was thirsty from the stew, Shirou gratefully accepted the skin.

It tasted slightly of leather, but that was to be expected from a sack made from leather and sinew. On a whim, he decided to analysis the materials of the bag, and regretted it the moment he did. He almost did a spit-take when he realized the inside of the bag was lined with goat bladder and that it was the reason for the strange taste. Forcing himself to swallow the water he had already started drinking, he put the cork back on before handing it back to Vortimer.

"Thanks," he croaked out, the weird taste in his mouth seemingly spreading all over his tongue.

He really needed to find a creak to wash his mouth in.

"You're welcome," the knight said as he secured the skin on the side of his saddle. "There's actually something I wanted to ask you, Shirou."

Shirou held back a grimace as he once more tasted the goat bladder on his tongue. "About what?"

"I didn't want to be rude, but yesterday I saw you converse with a woman near your tent. While army camp-romances are quite common, I feel as if I know the woman you were seeing. Who is she?" Vortimer asked with a frown.

Vortimer didn't remember her? That was to be expected perhaps, he hadn't actually seen her face properly, just her figure from a distance when they had arrested Jerad.

"I'm not romantically involved with her if that's what you're implying. Her name is Rani and she's the widow of Jerad the merchant. She asked me to become her 'patron' to stop the army from taking her shop," he said, his troubled thoughts from the morning bubbling back up.

"Really? She asked you to become her patron? And she only met you once before? I'm surprised, I didn't take you for such a sweet talker, Shirou. I'll have to be careful in the future, my fiancée might be in danger if she ever met you," Vortimer teased him and Shirou grumbled.

"I said it's not like that, didn't I? She said all I had to do was hang my coat of arms over the shop's sign to stop them from confiscating everything, but…" he trailed off, not knowing how to ask the question.

"But you don't have a coat of arms," Vortimer finished for him, a frown on his face.

"Yeah, exactly."

Considering he was already in quite a good position, being the captain of the archers and a _'knight-apprentice'_, asking for something like a coat of arms would seem greedy and unwarranted. It was the best way to help Rani however, and he felt obligated to help her out after he was responsible for killing her husband.

Although, it wasn't like it was his fault. Jerad was a traitor to begin with, so he couldn't be blamed for it, but it didn't make him feel better about it. Putting a girl barely older than him in such a horrible situation and not helping her went against everything he believed in.

"Have you considered recommending her to a more suitable patron? A knight who's already established in Albion would have a more recognizable insignia and would deter the army officials. Not even Ludvig would order the confiscation of a shop under an influential knight," Vortimer suggested after a moment of thought.

"I did, but I don't trust any knights not to take advantage of her aside from you, but since I don't really know you that well either I'm not sure I can recommend her to anyone. Do you think I should introduce her to someone in the army?"

"On second thought, no. Under normal circumstances it would be a sound idea, but the Southern Army isn't exactly brimming with trustworthiness at the moment. If it were the Northern army or even the Western army then it might be a good idea, but the knights Ludvig have gathered are greedy and foolish at the same time. Having a young woman owning a successful merchant shop in their debt would make any lonely knight stray off the proper path." Vortimer said it with such conviction that Shirou began to suspect it had happened before.

So how could he get a coat of arms? He directed his question to Vortimer and received a troubled frown in response.

"A true coat of arms is not an easy thing to gain. Only nobles and knights serving under nobles are eligible to carry a coat of arms. I can grant a coat of arms to my knights, but since I'm a baron I must make it clear that the knights have gone through the proper education and training for the title. If I could, I would give you one, if only to reward you for what you've done for Albion, but I don't have the authority to do that. You would need to be a marquess at the very least to do that," he said apologetically.

Shirou sighed, feeling a headache emerging as he ran out of ideas. Granted, he had not been able to come up with that many ideas to begin with (not very good ones anyways), but that made the disappointment even more disappointing. It was a blow to his pride that his second act of justice in Albion (the first being how he defeated Scarface) was being hindered by a picture representing a title.

Wait a minute…

If he couldn't get a true coat of arms, could he get a fake one?

If he made an insignia or a symbol that was so obviously representing him and hanged it on the shop's front, wouldn't the army immediately associate it with him? The majority of the army were already fond/scared of him; they wouldn't want him to retaliate for having his shop plundered. If he did make a fake coat of arms, then he wouldn't need to stand near the shop to guard it all the time. Once they saw the symbol, the thought of crossing him would enter their minds.

How had he not thought of this earlier this morning? He had spent so much time debating on what he should do, but simply hanging a sign that said 'Property of Emiya Shirou' had not occurred to him. He had been thinking in circles until he spoke to Vortimer.

"Vortimer, is it possible to make a fake coat of arms? I don't mean that in an illegal way, I was thinking about making a symbol that represented me and putting it in front of the store. Would that work?" he asked excitedly. It had to work, there was no reason it shouldn't.

Vortimer looked puzzled at first, but then it dawned on him what Shirou meant. Seeing the gears in his heard turning, Shirou crossed his fingers in a hopeful gesture.

"It should, as long as you don't make it appear too much like a coat of arms. Impersonation of a noble or knight is a crime punishable by death. As long as you don't claim it to be a proper coat of arms, but merely a symbol for Shirou Emiya, then it should be legal for you to do it," he finally answered, and Shirou felt the urge to let out a victorious yell, but he refrained from doing so.

He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of the troops more than he already had.

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

Boring.

Boring.

Boring.

He looked to the left side of the cart he was riding on and saw nothing but trees.

Boring. Boring.

Boring.

Boring. Boring.

He turned his head back to the right side and saw nothing but trees, again.

Boring.

Boring. Boring.

Boring.

Boring. Boring.

"Are you bored, Sir Emiya?" asked the man holding the reins to the horses pulling the wagon. He was a toothless man wearing clothes which had been torn and mended more times than the years Shirou had been alive. Judging by the poor stitches, either the man was unmarried or his wife was more skilled with cooking than the needle.

"Would you be offended if I said yes?" Shirou replied with a sigh. The man laughed, his toothless smile showing off the fleshy gums his teeth had once nested in long ago.

"Offended by what? My skills as a merchant? Trust me, back when I worked as a peddler I had to resist the urge to burn down the forest more times than I could count. Seeing trees and bushes tends to grow dull fast, and I worked as a merchant for over fifteen years," he said with a grin.

Shirou agreed. They had finally entered the Western Forest, but the bandits they had been looking for were nowhere in sight. Instead, all they could see was the endless wall of trees that obscured their view of the forest. Each tree was barely half a metre away from the next and the roots competed with each other over which tree would be allowed to absorb the nutrients from the soil, the leaves fighting over the sunlight in the same way.

There was no order to this forest, no natural balance. Just like animals, these trees believed in survival of the fittest. If a tree did not grow quickly and fought for its water, sunlight, and soil, then it would be crushed by the more competitive trees.

Once again, he felt a little disappointed by the reality of the middle ages. The books he had read about the past ages spoke of them as great periods for magecraft and mystical beasts, along with magical forests filled with fae and spirits. So far he had only seen wargs and despite Scarface's impressive size by the end, wargs were not the grand behemoth he had expected from a millennia and a half trip back in time. A dragon or chimera would be more like it, not some dumb beast.

This forest was the same. Shirou had expected a forest filled with mist and spirits roaming everywhere he went. This forest was filled with trees, literally. He doubted he could walk into the forest without cutting down at least ten trees before he reached a hundred metres. Instead of the mystical clearings and magical lakes he had imagined, all he got was a fence made of wood.

Boring.

Disappointing.

Boring.

To top it all off, he wasn't even allowed to ride his own horse. According to Vortimer, a child riding his own warhorse would alarm the Cornish forces. Horses were expensive and warhorses were the cream of the crop. A true warhorse could only be mounted by a knight or a professional soldier. A child riding one would raise more than a few eyebrows.

So he was stuck on the right side of the driver's seat of the wagon, holding a halberd made from decent steel with an ash shaft. He had practiced with it a few times, but he hadn't found any faults with the weapon. It could function as a spear, but it didn't have the right balance for it compared to an actual spear. Cortana was safely hidden beneath his cloak, but he still needed to hold a weapon to make the bandits believe they were desperate for protection. Hiring child soldiers was a sign of weakness, and they wanted to project an aura of desperation and weakness. The Cornish forces wouldn't be able to resist the chance to make a killing by… killing them.

His thoughts had only gotten darker since the boredom had kicked in. He was even making awful jokes to pass the time. How the mighty had fallen.

Still, it was about time the Cornish soldiers noticed them. They were in the Western Forest, with a large amount of cattle and crops on the wagons (or at least what appeared to be crops) with a small and seemingly useless guard. The trees were perfect for cover too; even Shirou's bow was useless if they hid behind the wall of wood unless he used his more explosive arrows. This was the perfect spot for an ambush, so why hadn't they attacked yet?

"So you're a saint, huh?" the toothless driver asked out of the blue. "What are you a saint of?"

The question was one he had been asked many times before, but he still thought it was awkward to answer it. No matter how many times he said it, he was not a real saint. Ludvig had merely added his name, or something which sounded like it, to an old book containing the names of saints and what they had done to earn sainthood.

"I make weapons and kill monsters. Aside from that, I like to cook." That had been his compromise. He never said what his sainthood represented so it wasn't an actual lie. All he said was what he had done for the army and his interests. He hadn't said what he was a saint of since he wasn't a saint at all.

"Cooking? You mean that filth the chef keeps feeding us? If that's what you did to become a saint, then Heaven must be a sad place indeed." The old man sighed.

"I'm not the one who cooks the army's meals. The chef chased me out because he thought I was taking over his job." The fact that he would have done that if he had the chance was better left unsaid. He had abstinence issues from having been chased out of too many kitchens to the point of twitching at the word 'food'.

"Maybe you should take his job. The food he makes is awful and the meat is too tough to chew," the driver complained, although Shirou was fairly certain it had less to do with the quality of the warg meat and more to do with the lack of teeth in his jaws.

"Trust me, if I could I would, but I'm more or less stuck with the archers. I don't think the chef would let me into his kitchen without a fight." Last time he had been caught cooking in the army's kitchen, the man had thrown a hammer his way. If he tried sneaking in again, he might find a cleaver flying his way.

"Aye, the position of chef is a valuable one. No fighting or hard labour; the only other job I can imagine that has the same prestige would be smithing, and blacksmiths are usually dead tired after a day's work. The chef on the other hand is a lazy bastard; he only cooks all day!" The last part the man said out loud, turning his head to yell in a particular direction.

"Fuck a sheep!" A loud voice yelled back, a voice Shirou recognized as the chef's. Looking around, he couldn't find the man in the long caravan. Why was the chef with them? They were about to be ambushed by the enemy, wouldn't joining the vanguard defeat the purpose of becoming a chef?

The driver must have noticed his confused expression, because he smiled as he answered his unspoken question, "Jonathan was caught eating the fresher ingredients while letting the troops eat the old ones. His punishment was to join the vanguard as a soldier," the man said in a whisper, careful not to reveal any information in case the Cornish forces were spying on them.

Stealing food from the army's supplies? Shirou was surprised he hadn't been whipped or executed. He had read the laws concerning the army's deployment, and food as well as weapons were considered property of the duke. Stealing from the duke was punishable by death, even if the stolen items were of no importance. The mere act of theft was despised by the population of Albion, and most likely the feeling was shared by all of Britannia.

Then again, it was common knowledge that the vanguard had a pretty high mortality rate on this mission. They would be going up against a numerically superior force and even though they had backup, it was uncertain how long it would take for Vortimer's forces to arrive. They were supposed to ring the brass bell when the Cornish forces arrived, and the bell's ringing would alert the main forces of their location.

It sounded good on paper, but in practice it was not as good of a plan as it might have seemed at first. Vortimer was supposed to trail along inside the forest and wait for the bell before they would charge towards the enemy, but there was no guarantee that Vortimer would be close enough to hear the bell or make it in time to aid them.

In other words, they had to assume Vortimer might not be able to help them and kill as many of them as fast as possible before they were overrun by the enemy's numbers.

On the other hand, they could always try to bunker down by flipping the wagons and make walls around themselves and wait for Vortimer to arrive. Any soldiers rushing through the gaps would die before they could do anything, and Shirou might be able to shoot any archers peeking out from the trees. Once the main forces arrived, they could attack from two directions in a pincer attack.

Shirou did not like the second option. He might be the best archer in the land (courtesy of his reinforcement and the divine/fae bow he had carved himself), but he didn't know how many archers the Cornishmen brought with them. From what they had learnt from the treacherous merchant, their forces numbered around a hundred and fifty with a large majority of them being infantry and a small group of cavalry. How many of their infantry were capable of wielding a bow was unknown to him, but if they surpassed thirty then the enemy would be able to pick them off from the trees with minimal risk.

In hindsight, perhaps it would have been better to bring a few more archers with them and not just the fifteen he had requested. Having such a large number of archers might seem odd for such a small force, but when he looked at the perfect cover the trees made and perfect way the caravan was placed in a long row, it made him think of the perfect tactic.

Take out the front wagon with a few arrows to the wheels, just enough to disable the wagon without killing the driver, and then do the same to the wagon at the back. The narrow road only allowed a single vehicle to drive on it, so the wagons in the middle would be stuck in place and would be easy pickings for any bandits willing to get their hands dirty.

It was a tactic his father had used on numerous occasions, and one which had very rarely failed, only in the case of reinforcements arriving just in time to help had Kiritsugu been forced to retreat to come up with another plan to take out a dictator in Africa.

The RPG might have been replaced with a bow, and instead of tanks the targets were wagons, but the tactic was still sound if they aimed for the driver and not the wheels. The distance between the caravan and the wall of trees was about ten metres, a distance filled with rocks and tree stumps which made traversing on the ground impossible for wagons and horses alike. An archer of decent skill would have little problem hitting a man-sized target from this distance.

To make sure the drivers survived the arrows if the Cornishmen decided to use this tactic, he had ordered them to wear heavy armour under their clothes and what appeared to be a leather helmet reinforced to the hardness of steel. The idea was to make it look like the man had worn everything he possibly could to increase his chances of survival, even if the helmet was made of leather and close to useless against a heavy strike from a sword or axe.

All the drivers wore this equipment simply because they were at a higher risk of being sniped by a Cornish archer. If the driver died then all wagons behind his would be stopped. He refused to believe that the soldiers of this age had not discovered that. Not only that, but the men he would be facing were professional soldiers, knights of Cornwall. He had only met knights loyal to Albion, and the quality of the knights he had seen in action varied, but the more experienced knights were without a doubt faster and stronger than the humans of his time period.

They were humans from the early stages of the Age of Man. Shirou had likewise gained a boost in strength and speed, one he was immensely grateful for, but he was still weaker than most humans for some reason. He could overpower anyone if he used magecraft, but his basic performance was lower than most people from this age. Whether this was because as a human from the modern era he would never achieve the same strength as a human from the middle ages or because it took a long time before Alaya could empower him like other humans he didn't know, but all that mattered was that he was underpowered against his opponents who were trained soldiers capable of killing him if he wasn't careful.

He had to take every precaution he could.

When the Cornishmen attacked, he would have to ensure the bell was rung properly and that the enemy's archers were taken out. His role was to lead the vanguard, but there really was no point in giving him that role. Their only goal was to survive long enough for Vortimer to arrive, and each man was more than capable of taking care of himself in a battle without him repeating it to them.

"But this is still rather boring." He sighed.

All the planning and tactical thinking in the world couldn't distract him from the wall of green and brown that covered both sides of the caravan. It made his eyes feel heavy, and he fought to suppress a yawn. Even the tension he had about killing humans had been tempered by the journey, although most of it had disappeared after he had been forced to execute Jerad. The Cornishmen had invaded Albion and murdered the soldiers under Sir Williams's command. Even if they were just following orders, they had to be stopped.

"Aye, tell me about it," the driver said, his own voice sounding rather tired as well. "At least we're not taking the road to the north. That road is really… What's going on?" The surprise in the man's voice jolted Shirou awake.

"What is it?" He asked the driver.

"We're stopping, but I don't know why. There's no reason for us to stop now; the next camp is still hours away," the driver said, his voice worried over the unexpected pit stop.

Shirou was on the fourth wagon from the front. The reason for that was that he needed to be able to observe both the front and the back of the caravan in case of emergency. That meant he was able to see pretty much everything happening on the sides, but at the price of not seeing what was happening at the front and back. He would have to get off the wagon if he wanted to find out what was happening.

"Stay here, I'm going to have a look," he told the man beside him as he lifted the halberd and jumped off the wooden seat.

"Be careful, lad," the toothless driver told him, his forehead wrinkled in worry.

Landing on the ground, his boots sunk a few centimetres into the muddy gravel. At least it wasn't as bad as back in Shamblefields where his entire foot sunk into the mud. His boots might have some mud sticking to the sides, but nothing that hindered him. Yanking his feet up, he began walking to the front of the caravan.

As a captain and a saint, Shirou outranked the soldiers he passed, and under normal circumstances they would have acknowledged him as their superior, either by bowing or nodding in his direction. This was an exception though, since adult men bowing to a child was cause for concern for any bandit watching them. That was why the soldiers ignored him as he passed them and Shirou averted his eyes to the ground.

For an outsider, it would appear as if a young soldier of low rank had been sent by the driver to ask what was wrong. Exactly what Shirou wanted them to think. No one would suspect that Shirou was actually asking what was wrong for himself.

Or something.

The first sign of trouble was the sound of running water. Shirou had spent countless hours looking over the primitive maps the army had of the Western Forest. He had memorized the lakes, rivers, and creeks surrounding the area he would be traveling in and could recite the names of all sources of water by heart. He could do the same to all the clearings and caves on the maps he had found. It was important in case he was trapped in a different country after losing his map. Finding large bodies of water or important caves could help him navigate the foreign territory.

He knew there was not supposed to be any sort of river or creek until they got to the camp for the day. Small brooks and such were not large enough to place on a map and could be ignored, but he could hear the sound of running water from over three wagons away. That meant it was large enough to place on a map, but there was not meant to be anything of such a size until they reach Coedwig Mosgito, a small part of the forest known for its pure water and lack of insects, despite having a name which literally meant 'Mosquito Forest'.

When he got to the first wagon he saw the troubled expressions of the soldiers disguised as merchants. They were also surprised by the water, and when Shirou followed their gaze, he understood why.

A river crossed their path, and its current raged against stone and mud into a dirty froth, guaranteed to tear anything and anyone who fell into its muddy grasp to pieces. Sharp rocks could be seen in the water, their deadly edges just barely peeking out from the dirty water. The river was fiercer than any other he had seen before, and he was surprised he had not noticed the roaring sound of the rushing water earlier. Crossing such a fierce stream would be suicide for any human, whether they were from the modern era or Middle Ages. It would have been impossible for them to proceed…

\- Had it not been for the large stone bridge towering over the river like a wolf over Chihuahuas.

The entire bridge seemed to be made from a rock that differed in colour like the stripes of a tiger, but looked too glasslike to be granite or any other rock commonly used when building bridges. It looked like…

"Who uses quartz to build a bridge?" He asked no one in particular after he analysed the material of the bridge. The entire bridge was made from different types of quartz, ranging from rose quartz, carnelian, and amethyst to smoky quartz and citrine. The immense size of the bridge made him wonder who would be rich and foolish enough to construct a bridge made from a brittle mineral considered to be a semi-precious gemstone. A building made from quartz wouldn't last a month depending on the weather, and would be better off cut into tiny pieces and sold as jewellery.

Shirou frowned. Something was definitely wrong here. A huge river which was not placed on any of the maps he had memorized was enough reason for concern, but a huge bridge made from expensive materials which wouldn't survive more than a week inside previously mentioned river? Nope, there was no way that was happening in a forest hiding an invading army just before another is preparing to invade.

This was the ambush.

The sound of an arrow flying through the air alerted him to the first strike. The sound came from the caravan's right side from between the trees. He spun around and materialized the pitch black bow in his left hand while he traced a bodkin point arrow in his right hand. He immediately saw the arrow heading for the driver of the first wagon. The arrow fired by the enemy archer was heading for the driver's head and would under normal circumstances penetrate through his temple and kill the man instantly.

Instead the metal point struck the man's leather helmet and barely penetrated past the first layer. The force of the arrow striking him made the man tumble down the wagon, confused and stunned, but the man was alive and breathing. He'd be all right in a few moments, but the archer would not be so lucky.

The arrow Shirou fired flew straight for the man's head and struck him straight in the middle of his forehead. Over a fourth of the arrow's shaft exited the back of the man's skull before the momentum left the projectile. The soldier didn't seem to understand what had just happened at first, as he began to stumble in an awkward gait, but eventually the damage caught up to him and the dead man collapsed to the ground, blood pouring down his face.

Killing another person brought Jerad's face to mind, but this was not some innocent civilian who had done nothing wrong. The person he had just killed was a soldier and murderer, and he had no time for sympathy. They had brought this upon themselves, and it was Shirou's duty to protect the people of Albion.

The arrow was the start of pandemonium. He could see archers emerge from the trees on both his left and right, their English longbows freshly made and oiled. Infantry soldiers drew their swords and spears and knights on horses galloped out of the forest. Arrows flew from the woods like a flock of birds had been chased out form their nests and headed straight for the caravan. Reinforcing his eyes, Shirou could count up to thirty arrows in the air all at once, fifteen from each side.

They were surrounded by archers, infantry and cavalry. The enemy outnumbered them. Their archers outnumbered their own, their cavalry outnumbered their own, and their infantry outnumbered their own. They had been caught in an ambush. There was only one thing left to do.

"Attack!"

The order came from Shirou's throat faster than he had expected it. The moment he said it, he felt his muscles fill with prana as he used his most useful and basic spell he knew to enhance his strength, speed, and endurance to superhuman levels. He grabbed the shield hanging from his back and strapped the leather straps to his left arm while gripping the halberd with his right. Curtana hung from his belt, safely hidden from view. He was keeping it as a trump card in case he lost the halberd.

The loud ringing of the brass bell let him know the bell ringer had succeeded in his duties. The hanging from the wagon in the middle was about twice the size of a man's head so they had been forced to keep it hidden beneath a sheet, but the size of it meant the sound would reach a lot further than an ordinary bell commonly owned by normal farmers. The loud ringing sent the horses into panic, and had the wagon in the front not been awkwardly placed so it wouldn't rush onto the bridge, then the entire caravan would have left him in the dust for certain.

Yells and roars of excitement emerged from the wagons as the men who had hidden in barrels and under sheets emerged, drawing their weapons in the process. Men wearing chainmail and plate armour, their faces hidden beneath helmets and carrying swords, axes, spears, and halberds in their hands. The bloodlust in their eyes was reflected in the way they charged the enemy without hesitation, something Shirou would have followed in doing if he hadn't his own task at hand.

Archers were snipers, warriors who fought over long distances. They were weak in close combat most of the time because they lacked proper equipment such as armour and swords. Most archers carried a dagger or short sword and wore light armour such as jack-of-plates, equipment which was less than useful against a knight in full plate armour carrying a long sword or axe.

They did, however, exceed in thinning out the enemy's numbers at a distance, killing or wounding soldiers with precise attacks while staying out of harm's way. A knight would hold their own line, but the archer would break the enemy's line.

The reason Shirou's soldiers were so eager to advance into the forest was not because they were so eager for battle that they wanted to fight on the enemy's home turf. They wanted to get into the forest because they didn't want to stay out in the open when the Cornish archers began firing again. The road had officially become the kill zone, the death trap no soldier wanted to be anywhere near when arrows started flying. The best way to avoid death by Cornish projectile was to enter the forest where trees could cover them until they could engage the archer in close combat.

The Cornish soldiers had realized this and were desperately trying, and failing, to keep them out of the woods for their archers to pick them off. Even if they outnumbered their enemy, killing someone with an arrow was safer than with a sword. Spear struck shields and swords scratched armour as the two forces pushed against each other in a desperate struggle for survival.

As Albion's forces met the Cornish forces in the space between the road and the forest, Shirou could see the Cornish archers ready their bows for a second volley. Fifteen arrows from the left and fifteen arrows on the right would rain down on Albion's soldiers in a few seconds. It was Shirou's and the archer's job to prevent this, to kill the enemy's archers before the archers could kill infantry.

Aside from Shirou, fifteen soldiers had remained with the caravan. They did not carry halberds or long swords, nor did they wear plates of steel to protect themselves with. They wore simple Jack-of-plates and carried short swords in their belts, but that was not what made them special.

The reason they had stayed behind was not because they were afraid, but because they were the most useful further away from the battle. They were archers, and their weapons were not the swords or daggers in their belts, but the pitch black bows in their left hands. They were the mass produced fae bows Shirou had created weeks ago. They had been taught how to fire the extremely powerful bow with expert precision in that time, and were about to put their skills to good use.

Shirou drew back the bowstring and took aim. He was aiming for the archers, the knight-slayers. Not many things could take out a knight on the battlefield due to their skill with weapons, but an arrow from behind could prove fatal. Most knights on Shirou's side wore plate armour, but the quality of steel and craftsmanship varied greatly. An arrow could break through plate if the quality of the steel and craftsmanship were lacking. An entire suit of armour made a man a walking tank, but the steel had to be of a certain thickness to block and arrow and not all blacksmiths had the skill or decency to spend the extra time to make the entire armour that thick. That was why only another knight could bring down another knight under most circumstances, but war was never fair, and that was why Shirou needed to keep the archers busy.

He released the string and the arrow struck its target, an archer aiming for the soldiers Shirou had sparred with the day before. Despite the chaos the battlefield had become, the soldier was able to look back and give him a nod in gratitude before he had to dodge the sword an enemy knight had thrust into his face in that second of carelessness.

And that was how the first battle in the Britannian Wars began. Not with two armies clashing against each other.

The first battle of the Britannian Wars began with an arrow.

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

The arrow left the black bow like a black lightning bolt and ripped the air apart on its way to it target. While in the air, it hit the shaft of another arrow fired by a Cornishman, and the wooden arrow which was about to strike an Albionic archer in the chest broke in the middle from the force. The black arrow continued its path and penetrated the eye of a Cornish soldier trying to draw his bow back to let his own arrow fly. Shirou did not wait for the arrow to hit before he had drawn back the bow once more and let a second arrow loose.

For the first time, Shirou was actually glad he executed Jerad. Not only had the man betrayed his country, he had even lied about the number of troops he had brought in.

This was not a hundred and fifty soldiers.

This was closer to two-hundred and fifty!

They must have divided their forces into two because the force they were fighting at first had received reinforcements all of a sudden. The archers had increased to fifty, something he had not expected at all. The dense forest made archery an unsuitable tactic, but the Cornish forces made it work. The infantry numbered about a hundred and fifty soldiers wielding spears and swords while the remaining fifty were cavalry wearing light armour with a few of them wearing heavy armour and were obviously the leaders.

Two-hundred and fifty Cornish soldiers against a hundred and twenty Albionic soldiers. For some reason, he knew it would come down to this. Even after he had asked Vortimer for additional troops, they were still outnumbered 2-1. Was this divine retribution for cursing at Wyrda? It felt like it was.

At least they were no longer stuck out in the open. The Albionic forces had managed to enter the woods, despite Cornish opposition. All fighting was now taking place at the edges of the forest, with Shirou and his archers being the only ones not to seek shelter inside the forest since that would place them in close combat.

The only thing he was uncertain about was why his, and the archers' he brought with him, arrows had for some reason been painted black when he wasn't looking. It must have been one of the archers because they were the only ones who knew where he kept his arrows, but he could not figure out why. He suspected Hadrian had asked someone to do it in order to count how many people Shirou's archers had killed and how accurate they were, compared to the archers who had not been trained by him. It seemed like it was something Hadrian would do.

"Sir, the archers have noticed us," one of Albion's archers informed him. The archer was hiding behind a wagon as arrows which had previously been aimed at the melee fighters struck the wooden vehicle instead. Loud thuds could be heard as the enemy's arrows lodged themselves deeply into the wooden construct, protecting them from the barrage. Some of the horses and cattle had been hit by the projectiles and had died where they stood, their bodies covered in arrows. Some livestock had escaped into the wild and would most likely never be seen again; hopefully they would survive out in the wild.

"So I've noticed," Shirou grunted as he dodged an arrow which hit the space his chest had been just seconds earlier.

So far, the battle had been going according to plan, aside from the large number of reinforcements the Cornish had received. Albion's forces would fight the Cornish forces inside the woods while Shirou and his archers took out the Cornish archers. With the trees obscuring the Cornish archer's view of the infantry, they decided to instead devote their attention to the few archers still standing out on the road.

Shirou had not liked the second option he had thought about earlier, but it seemed as if he didn't have any choice at the moment. He could always charge into the forest with the halberd and shield, but that would leave the rest of the archers without their leader. The melee fighters didn't really need any direction, other than 'stick together and stick them with the sharp end'. All they had to do was to wait until Vortimer arrived, but the archers were exposed. Meaning he had to do something about the enemy's archers.

He felt like he was thinking in circles. 'Head into the woods', 'Enemy's forces are superior', 'Hide behind the wagons', and 'Take out the archers', why couldn't he just come to a decision and stick with it? He felt like a broken record with all these thoughts coming back to distract him. Was it like this for all medieval commanders? If so, then he suddenly felt a tiny spark of respect for Ludvig before it was ruthlessly wiped out by the intense dislike he had for the man.

"Continue taking out the soldiers you can see, I'm going to do something about the archers," he told the archer next to him. He received a nod in confirmation before he took off, jumping over the overturned wagon and running at superhuman speeds to the trees.

Fighting at a distance was fine, but they weren't going to keep poking their heads out forever if they suddenly started getting picked off by a single archer. As much as Shirou would have preferred staying behind cover with his students, someone had to engage the archers to draw them out. It was obvious that the troops engaging the Cornish infantry and light cavalry were not able to do that since emerging from the circle formation they had created was clearly suicide, but someone had to kill the archers even so.

It was strange; for some reason Shirou got the feeling that walking into an ambush was not a good idea.

The sound of arrows flying through the air alerted him to the incoming projectiles, and he raised his shield to block them. He felt the impacts of the metal tips on the shield he had strengthened minutes earlier transmit from the wood and into his arm, telling him that getting hit by them would be a bad idea.

Shirou had, for a second, considered using his halberd to knock the arrows out of the sky as he had seen plenty of animated characters do on television, but even though he was certain he could knock a few of them down, he wasn't willing to risk it. Those arrows had been stabbed into the ground to cover them with dirt, so even if only a single arrow hit him on a nonlethal area, the infection would be a pain even if he had magecraft to heal him with. Now was not the time to play around.

Running across the small clearing, he jumped over the tree stumps and uneven rocks. The wet tree stumps would prove treacherous if he attempted to stand on them, and the rocks looked unsteady even at a distance. If he stepped on them and fell with his current speed, then the arrows would be the least of his concern. Broken bones and ripped flesh would be unavoidable.

He reached the first archer hiding behind a tree. The bowman had seen Shirou run across the small clearing, but had clearly not anticipated him to reach the trees so fast. The man reached for his dagger, but Shirou was faster. The halberd was equipped with an axe head, and even though he was only using his right hand, his reinforced strength was more than enough to wield the polearm effectively. Shirou swung the halberd and aimed for the neck of the archer. The steel blade parted the muscles and bone in the neck with ease as blood flowed down the man's chest. The now headless archer fell over, his body twitching, and the head gaping in surprise.

"Arthfael!" the archer's friends screamed as they saw Shirou decapitate their friend. Not waiting around for them to start attacking, Shirou began his charge to send them to join their friend Arthfael into the afterlife.

Arrows flew in his direction, but Shirou used his reinforced speed to dodge or block them on his shield. The halberd in his hand turned out to be a useful weapon as he thrust the long spike into the throat of another archer before he swung the axe head into the shoulder of another one, cleaving through bone and flesh until his arm hung uselessly at his side.

Killing Jerad had been difficult because it had been his first time and the merchant had been begging for his life. Killing the archers was easier because they were the invaders and had no qualms about killing innocent people. They had to go.

More arrows flew, but they were not aimed at him. Black arrows of Albion sailed through the trees and struck Cornish flesh. Some of them missed, an understandable mistake, but he had to jerk his head back as an arrow nicked his eyebrow. He glared back at the one who had fired the arrow, and said archer shrunk back at his accusing stare. How ironic that the first injury he sustained in battle was from his own allies.

Ignoring the tiny river of blood running down his left eye, he advanced through the ranks of the hostile forces. It must have been a curious sight, to see a child dismember men twice his size by wielding a large polearm while the men tried to fight back with only daggers and small swords. Under normal circumstances, the Cornish soldiers would have killed any child his age without issue, but he was no mere orphan. Trained by the Magus Killer and capable of boosting his strength, Shirou was stronger than any soldier the Cornishmen could find.

He knew the moment that thought crossed his mind that he was going to pay for it. Overconfidence had a way of coming back to bite him in the ass. He had been confident that Wyrda was a kind lady who had no ill intentions to harm him. He was confident that the forest he was camping in was not dangerous at all. He was confident that he would be able to take out any wargs before they reached the village of Blackbay.

Confidence was not his strong suit.

Neither was luck, now that he thought about it.

The screams of the archers must have tipped the rest of the Cornish soldiers off that something was wrong. The infantry units and the light cavalry stopped their attacks on the Albionic infantry and turned their attention to the archers, and Shirou could see the surprise in faces in the corner of his eye. He shoved the spike of the halberd into the eye socket of an archer and looked in the direction of the closest enemy.

Not surprisingly, the closest archer was over ten metres away and was currently running away like a scared chicken, his bow lying discarded on the ground and the arrows scattered all around it. The rest of the archers were likewise putting their cardio to the test as the lightly armed bowmen realized they wouldn't be able to put up a fight without dying en masse.

If he pursued them now he'd be leaving the main force of Albion's vanguard to its fate, not something he'd even had to consider in its current situation. He also didn't think he'd have a choice in the matter as suddenly ten members of the Cornish light cavalry charged his way, their lances and spears pointed straight at him. Somehow, he doubted he'd be getting out unscathed if he let himself get hit by those, even if he reinforced his clothes.

The horses were of no particular breed, most likely simple rouncies rather than destriers or coursers. Sneaking destriers into the country must have been too difficult compared to the cheaper and more common rouncies. The armour they wore was likewise simple, nothing more than a thick blanket to protect against arrows and weak slashes with a weapon.

The question was how he would deal with them. The most obvious answer would be to cut the legs of the horses, but the thought of Kuro made him banish the thought. Kiritsugu might have been able to do it without hesitation, but Kiritsugu had never owned a horse. Besides, the horses were innocent for the crimes of their masters and had never killed a human directly. Killing or crippling a horse would be the same as hurting a child.

So… Plan B?

When the first rider reached him, he reinforced his legs and jumped straight up in the air. The lance missed him and the rider was barely able to blink in confusion before Shirou's halberd cleaved his face into two perfect reflections of each other. Landing on the saddle of the horse, he shoved the previous and now very dead rider off and grabbed the reins with his left hand carrying the shield.

"That… actually turned out better than what I had hoped for," he breathed out in relief. He had expected the rider to draw his sword and block Shirou's strike which would lead to a short scuffle on top of the horse, but luckily for Shirou, the rider was not prepared for his agility.

That was cause for concern. Shirou was not lucky.

Gripping the reins, Shirou turned the chestnut horse to meet the remaining nine cavalry. They had stopped their charge, perhaps from shock or from caution, and were eyeing him warily. Their horses stomped the ground and made them unsteady in their saddles, another reason for Shirou to be worried.

Real knights would not stop their charge just because one of them died.

Real knights would not let their horses disturb them in the middle of a battle.

Real knights would have been able to stop him from killing them with a single blow.

His suspicions grew, and he knew he had to find out if they were true. He kicked the sides of the horse and urged it forward. He held the shield forward and brought the halberd up to point at the enemy cavalry, the tip serving as a makeshift lance. It did not take long before the enemy charged in return, but this time he could see the signs he had not noticed earlier.

The lances struck his shield, and all of them either glanced off or snapped under the pressure. There was simply no way wooden lances would be able to penetrate his reinforced shield without magecraft to back them up, and the strength of the riders was that of ordinary humans as well. Trying to defeat him in a joust, even if it was his first time trying it, was impossible. If they had been able to properly grip the lance, they might have been able to unhorse him, but his leg strength was also reinforced so even that option was closed off from them.

Shirou's halberd, on the other hand, had struck a man squarely in the left of his chest, penetrating his heart and lung. The strength to remain seated left him, and he followed the momentum of the polearm as he tumbled to the ground, his horse slowly coming to a stop. He didn't die immediately, however, and Shirou could see the man cough blood on the ground. Either he would bleed to death, or he would suffocate on his own blood. Before Shirou could end his suffering the coughing ceased and he stopped moving, his final breath having been taken just as Shirou began to ride towards him.

No armour underneath his clothes, no armour for his horse, no skill in riding a horse, and little to no skill in combat. That was his impression of the cavalry Shirou had just fought. Even now, when he back was turned, the remaining eight riders did not attack him with their lances, even though they should have been trained to take any advantage they could get, and an unprepared opponent was the best advantage any man could ask for.

Even if Shirou had been performing extraordinary feats of agility, he had sparred with knights on his way here who could adapt to the speed (even if it hadn't been at his fastest). For the cavalry of Cornwall to not be able to survive a single strike even after they had seen him fight other soldiers was odd to say the least.

Just now, his suspicions had been confirmed. When they had charged him, they had been aiming for his chest, all of them. The chest was a vital area, but also an extremely large one. If they missed his heart or lungs, they were bound to his liver, kidneys or stomach. Even if they only struck his intestines, the infection most people would get from the bacteria released from the bowels would kill them. That was why most people would always aim for the chest of an opponent.

A trained knight, however, would not do that if they knew the opponent was faster than they were and possessed a shield. Aiming for the chest of an a superior opponent would be something one did if they grew up watching movies about medieval tournaments and the jousting knights (or if they grew up watching actual tournaments, something people from the middle ages actually seemed to do). A trained knight would never aim for the chest because it would not only be too obvious, it would also be the most guarded place on the opponent's body. They would instead aim…

…For the horse.

He had obviously made certain to deflect any blows that might have been aimed for the horse. The horse was an innocent creature, one he had been forced to take from its previous owner for the sake of victory, but he would not be Emiya Shirou if he allowed an innocent creature fall because he was using it as bait to confirm his suspicions.

Despite his intention to protect the horse from harm, not a single lance had even come close to harming it, except for the broken tip which had scratched the neck of the beast. The wound barely bled, but that was it. The horse was unharmed even after nine horsemen had attacked him with lethal intent.

There was a possibility that these men belonged to some kind of tribe which worshipped horses and would never dream of harming them, but judging by the bleeding mouths caused by improperly used bits and the starved looks of the horses, that was a very, very remote possibility.

These men were not knights. These men were not even soldiers. Judging by how easily an inferior Albionic force was able to push its way into the protection of the trees, they were probably farmers and beggars who had been conscripted into the army and given a training regimen that barely covered the basics before they were sent out to disrupt Albion's supply chains. He had been surprised by how easily he had been able to defeat trained soldiers and knights so effortlessly, even if he was using magecraft, but the truth turned out to be less than impressive. He was not even allowed to feel a little proud that he was able to defeat trained knights in close combat with only minimal reinforcement.

He knew there was no pride in killing people. Only murderers and villains felt anything positive about killing. That was not why he had been happy. He was happy that the hours he had spent practicing with Fuji-nee had been time well spent. It meant he had not disappointed his _'older sister'_, who had taken time out of her _'busy'_ schedule to help him train. He had been happy his training with reinforcement and tactics had been able to produce results that could help people. It meant his father had not wasted his time writing down the training manuals for Shirou to read after he died.

That was why he was proud when he was able to defeat knights who had spent their lives training with a lance and a sword. It meant that the people who had trained him could hold their heads up high in the afterlife.

Well, Kiritsugu could. Fuji-nee wasn't dead, and he was uncertain where she would go when she did die.

Maybe she would be reborn as a certain striped big cat…

Shaking those thoughts out of his head, he focused on the situation at hand. These men were not knights, but very poorly trained soldiers. That left him with the question of what he should do with them.

Leave them alone? Absolutely not. They might have been conscripted, but they had still gone along with murdering innocent merchants and civilians. They were criminals, and who knew what they had done to the people they captured? There had been women and children traveling with their merchant husbands and fathers. If what he had heard during the war council was correct, then women and children tended to be turned into whores and slaves if caught by the enemy, but not before the soldiers had their way with them.

Conscription does not wash away the sins one made as a soldier.

He could always ask them to surrender, but prisoners of war were either turned into slaves or executed unless they had some value as hostages. These men had no value, so they would either end up in chains or fall to the executioner's mercy.

The third option was to outright slaughter them here and now. If they didn't surrender, then that would be the only option left. They would either end their lives here, or spend the rest of their lives as slaves. As much as Shirou hated slavery, perhaps they could make up for what they did as soldiers by spending their lives as servants. There was a chance they could be set free one day, if whatever master they served was kind.

How come this world hated him so much?

Oh right. Gaia hates all humans equally.

"Surrender now, and I promise to do everything I can to give you a fair trial." It was the best he could do at the moment. The soldiers around him were fighting, and he couldn't afford to laze around talking to them while people were dying all around him.

_'Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes!'_

The men looked around at each other, trying to certify if what he said was true and the others believed it. For a moment, it seemed as if they would all accept.

Then they laughed in his face.

"You're a damned fool, you know that, boy?!" the man in the middle said. "Perhaps you should take care of yourself before you offer us choices?" He sneered, and his filthy face twisted into a sadistic grimace.

That was when Shirou heard the sound of a bell being rung. Shirou's first instinct was to look back at the caravan to see who rung the bell they brought with them, but realized something was wrong. It was not the loud ringing of the brass bell they had used to alert Vortimer's forces that the ambush had succeeded. The sound was too high-pitched. The brass bell was loud and heavy, like the sound of a cannon. This sound was like that of a pistol in comparison.

He looked around and saw what he assumed was the leader of the Cornish forces. He was covered in plate armour and his horse was the same. The sword he carried was not the short sword of a conscripted solider, but the longsword of a knight who had braved countless battles to earn his position.

He was not holding his sword at the moment however. Instead both his arms were raised high, one wielding a large brass club while the other held…

-A bell made from quartz?

"Why quartz?" Shirou asked out loud before he could stop himself.

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

The second sign of trouble was the sound of a quartz bell resounding across the forest. Despite the strangeness of such an act, Shirou did not feel much surprise. They had, presumably, built an entire bridge from quartz, so a bell would not be a problem, in terms of materials and skill anyway.

The foremost feeling he was experiencing was curiosity. Why quartz? Was there a symbolic value in making items and constructions from such materials? He knew that there was an entire branch of magecraft dedicated to jewellery, but aside from learning about the weaknesses and strengths of the branch, he had not spent much time on it. He was not talented enough to spend much time on branches he could never master.

But from what little he remembered, quartz was not a very useful mineral even in jewelcraft. It had too many impurities and leaked prana faster than most minerals. The only value it had was when the magus would use them in formalcraft, and the circle itself would contain the mana. Bells and bridges were not what you'd expect a magus to spend their time on, even if the materials were useless for the thaumaturgy.

Once his curiosity began to disappear, Shirou's second feeling began to emerge.

Danger.

Something had changed. The attitude of the troops had gone from cocky to cautious and even frightened. The Cornish troops feared whatever they had themselves done by ringing that bell. The infantry had changed in their attitude as a company. The faces of most soldiers were filled with terror and sorrow. Whereas before they were fighting as a loose and sloppy group, now they were fighting by themselves, fear and desperation empowering their blows.

His first theory was that the bell had cast some kind of hypnotic spell over the Cornish troops, some kind of mad enhancement that caused whoever was from Cornwall to go berserk. The swings of their swords and axes had gained a slight increase in strength as the shields that had held out perfectly until now were starting to chip and the edges were cutting deep into the rims of the shields rather than simply shaving of a few centimetres.

He tried to sense any supernatural effects in the air, but there was nothing but the ambient mana. The increased strength was due to fear and nothing more. What did the bell mean for the men to fear it so much?

The horsemen in front of him did not share their countrymen's fear of bells however. Their faces were filled with triumph, as if Christmas had come early. They shook with laughter as they sneered at him, dropping their broken lances and drawing the short swords light cavalry carried.

"You're dead, boy. You and your little group of soldiers are going to die now." The leader spoke with confidence. He was a muscular man, his brown hair and brown eyes blending in with his suntanned face and brown tunic. He was not as tanned as Jerad, but he could pass as a foreigner from the same area as him. His clothes were what you'd expect light cavalry to wear with a brown tunic and brown pants covered with small pieces of chainmail here and there. He wore just enough armour to cover the vitals and head.

"And you think you can kill me? Because you rang a bell?" He had a bad feeling about this. That bell was bad news.

"We can't kill you." The rider admitted without a hint of shame. "But he can." He grinned maliciously and pointed to the quartz bridge.

Careful not to lower his guard to the riders in front of him, he focused his eyes on the bridge, expecting a knight or magus to ride across it at any moment and head straight for Shirou. He'd have to trace a mystic code to defend himself while using his RPG arrows to counter-attack. He had a single RPG arrow in his quiver, in case he needed it. They were dangerous to keep around, so he never kept more than one around. He'd have to wait for it though; if the enemy realized he was a long distance fighter he'd immediately get closer so that the explosion would envelope Shirou as well.

Any second now the enemy would emerge from the arched bridge.

Any second now…

Any second…

Nothing happened.

He tore his eyes from the bridge to cast a glance at the riders. They looked just as surprised as he was. Had they fallen for their commander's bluff? Had they thought whatever lie the commander had concocted to trick the enemy was the truth? He found that hard to believe, that any soldier would be so stupid as to believe a bluff meant for the enemy.

A second ringing of the bell sung throughout the forest, and the horsemen regained their confidence as they swept their eyes to the bridge. Shirou looked back as well, but not before tracing a dagger to throw at the leader's face. He'd have to take caution not to lower his guard, but he also needed to take an opportunity to take down the enemy.

Nothing happened. The bridge remained as lonely as it ever was, with only the river flowing beneath it as company.

Shirou was about to hurl the dagger at the leader's face when a loud voice yelled across the forest, "Morholt, you fat fuck! Wake up!" The commander's loud and deep voice echoed. It was such a surprising thing to do that the fighting of both forces ceased completely. The Cornish soldiers stopped to stare at their commander, and the Albionic soldiers stopped when the words registered in their minds_. 'Who was he talking to?'_ ran through everyone's minds before the Albionic forces shrugged and attacked the confused Cornishmen.

Shirou hesitated when he heard the voice, but followed through with the throw anyway. Unfortunately, the slight hesitation was enough for the leader to notice him and desperately dodge the flying blade. The man behind him, however, could not see the projectile due to his leader's large head and got three inches of steel embedded in his forehead.

The dead rider fell off his horse with a thud as the surprised riders around him backed away. Even the leader backed away with fear, but then stopped and his face regained its smirk once more as he looked at Shirou. No, he wasn't looking at Shirou, he was looking at the bridge.

Again with the bridge, what was the deal with it? Glancing back, he expected the bridge to be empty once more. It should have been at least; he had not heard any footsteps or the sound of hooves striking the ground.

**"I'm not fat, Father says I'm perfect!"** an even louder voice yelled back, and Shirou could feel his teeth chattering as a response to the roar-like tone.

The bridge was not empty. The large quartz arch stood at about four metres high with a width of about the same length. That meant it had enough room to allow pretty much any vehicle existing in the middle ages. It was a magnificently large and needlessly huge construction and was therefore a very impressive entrance for anyone who wished to make an impression.

It was not large enough for the speaker to stand in it, however, not without bending his back to accommodate his head. Even now, as the large and muscular arm emerged from the bridge, Shirou could tell the owner of said arm was massive. The hand gripped the edge of the bridge and heaved himself up in a single pull. The force his arm generated was massive enough to lift him into the air and land on the roof of the quartz bridge.

His skin was a dull grey and full of wrinkles, like the hide of an elephant. His belly was the sole exception, being an ugly yellow instead. He was overweight, with a belly that looked like someone had inflated a balloon inside his stomach, but his arms were covered in muscles and veins. His face was the most striking feature of the monster. Completely bald, covered in warts, and his eyes were incredibly small despite having a head the size of an overgrown pumpkin. His nose stuck out like the sails of a boat and the teeth were uneven and yellow.

Shirou didn't even need to guess what kind of monster he was. Even as a Japanese person, he knew enough about European folklore to know what he was. Emerges from underneath a bridge, is stupidly large and idiotically ugly and terrifies people around it. It could only be…

"Let's see how you fare against Morholt the Troll!" the leader of the light cavalry taunted him as he started backing his horse away from Shirou.

A troll.

The Cornishmen had allied themselves with a troll.

How was it possible for there to be a troll in the Cornish army? And why the hell did he have to fight one? Just a few weeks ago, he was fighting a pack of monstrous beasts capable of absorbing prana, and now he was face to face with a real troll! Was there some kind of market where they bought magical creatures? Enough already!

"Morholt, you can eat all the soldiers you want, but only if you eat that one first!" the horseman shouted to the troll while pointing at Shirou.

So it ate humans like in the stories? He should have expected that; most magical beasts ate humans, but he didn't want to assume anything about the troll. In the fairy tales, trolls would turn to stone if hit by direct sunlight, but the sun was up and shining straight onto Morholt, and the troll didn't seem bothered by it. Actually, he shielded his eyes and yawned, but even humans did that when they had just woken up.

Wait a minute, hadn't Vortimer mentioned something about Morholt? He had said something about Morholt and Dane, the… Ogres of Ireland? When did a troll become an ogre? Were they related somehow, like tigers and lions?

**"Really? Can I? OKAY!"** the loud voice answered excitedly and prepared to rush in Shirou's direction.

Shirou was prepared however. He had fought Scarface, so he was used to large monsters. Scarface might have been huge, but he had also been deceptively fast. The same might apply for Morholt. Shirou had to materialize his bow and use the explosive arrow in his quiver. If he aimed it at Morholt's skull, then it should kill him.

He held out his hand to materialize his bow and…

_'Holy cow, he's fast!'_

And then he was sent flying.

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

The bell of the vanguard rang across the forest.

Vortimer, who was in the process of eating the last of the stew Shirou had given him, choked on the last piece of duck left in the bowl. After plenty of coughing and spitting, he was able to guide the meat back onto its proper path to his stomach and not his lungs.

The soldiers around him had also heard the bell, and for a second, time seemed to have frozen. The entire company resembled a bunch of deer listening for signs of wolves. Silent, unmoving, and listening, the entire force of two-hundred and eighty men were for a brief moment nothing more than a part of the forest like the trees they were resting against.

Then a single soldier moved his head an inch to look at the man next to him, and instead of trees, the soldiers turned into angry bees.

Movements and action filled the temporary camp. Infantry grabbed their spears and swords and hopped onto the wagons carrying them. Knights climbed onto their horses and rode off to the noise as the light and heavy cavalry were meant to do. The Lions, Vortimer's own personal soldiers, gathered around him, their trained bodies shaking with barely restrained energy.

_'This was it,'_ Vortimer realized. They were about to go to war with Cornwall. Their neighbour and former ally, Cornwall. Officially, they were going to exterminate a band of bandits, but even if Cornwall accepted the explanation, both sides knew what had happened.

Cornwall had invaded, and Albion had defended.

Cornwall had spilled the blood of Albion, and Albion had spilled the blood of Cornwall. Unlike the small skirmishes they had fought in the past, this was a battle, a true declaration of war.

"Let's show them what happens when they bare their fangs at Albion," Vortimer said, and the clearing erupted into a cacophony of cheers and roars.

Ignoring the cheers of his men, Vortimer climbed into the saddle strapped onto his favourite destrier, Joyce. The white stallion had been the only gift he had kept from his mother. Joyce had not been a magical artefact designed to try and unlock his magical ability or something designed to make him think fondly of her in order to bend him to her will. Joyce had been the only sign in his life that Rowena had actually cared for him as her son at one point. He had been given without any catches or demands; it was simply a gift a mother gave to her son on his tenth birthday.

Right before he had been forced to usurp his father's throne and exile his mother for treason.

Ever since then, Joyce had become the most prized horse in Albion, not only for his pure white colour from the tip of his tail to his muzzle, but also because he had been bred with countless mares and every single one of his offspring had become a splendid warhorse.

Kicking Joyce's sides lightly, the white stallion took off at a rapid pace. Hearing hooves follow him, he felt assured that his Lions were with him.

It had been a while since he had started a war with a former ally.

Let's see if he still had it in him.

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

In the time it took for Shirou to drop the halberd and materialize his bow, Morholt had rushed forward at breakneck speeds. His meaty hand swung around Shirou to grasp him between the troll's powerful fingers, and only Shirou's reinforcement saved him just in time. He ducked under the fingers and tried to slide off the horse he was riding, but the meaty palm of the troll continued at the same speed and struck him like a freight train.

The force ripped him out of the saddle and sent flying into the forest on the opposite side of the road. Dazed, he was barely able to completely reinforce his body for the impact. His back struck the trunk of a tree with enough speed to sever a man's spine… before continuing to strike the next tree with similar speed… and the next one… and the next one.

When he finally came to a stop on the ground, he let out a loud groan of pain. The shield strapped to his left arm was nothing more than a few leather straps with some wood attached. Despite having reinforced his back to the outmost limit, it still felt like someone had kneed his back for an hour straight before trying to practice yoga with Fuji-nee. He stood up and looked around, searching for the one who had launched him across the forest.

He was standing where Shirou had been just seconds ago, eyeing Shirou with pure and childlike interest.** "Hey, Sir Amer, he didn't break! Did you see that, he didn't' break! Does that mean I can play with him? Can I play with him before I eat him?"** the towering beast asked the leader of the light cavalry. Shirou did not like the way the horsemen reacted to the word 'play'.

"What, the girls we gave you weren't enough? Now you want to start 'playing' with little boys too?" The man grinned. He turned to look at Shirou who was still standing back. His eyes gleamed with unhinged glee. "He's all yours, Morholt."

That seemed to make the troll's day as the monstrosity charged towards Shirou once more in a mad rush. An ordinary human wouldn't have been able to react to the charge of the beast, much less dodge it, but Shirou was not ordinary by any means.

The moment it became clear the troll would charge, he materialized his bow as fast as he possibly could and notched the arrow he had used to take down Scarface. He drew back the string aimed for the head of the troll. Looking at him and how he used his massive arms to heave himself forward, Shirou understood how the troll had been able to surprise him before. The man-eating beast was like a rocket, all speed and no brakes. Like Scarface, his bulk made it seem like he was going to be slow, but magical beasts tended to defy logic sometimes.

Morholt propelled himself forward as he gripped the ground and heaved. His long and equally powerful legs did the same thing, and Shirou expected him to reach Shirou's part of the woods in seconds. Too bad for Morholt, he'd never even cross the road.

Shirou let go of the arrow and saw the red light fly straight into Morholt's face. The explosion that followed was just what he remembered it to be, a bright flash and a shockwave that blew dust in his face. Firing it so close to himself was dangerous, but he had made certain to retreat after he let go of the arrow. That was the arrow which had taken out Scarface and turned his entire skull into bits and pieces. He didn't want to be caught in the explosion.

**"AAAARGHAAAAARGGGGHHHHHH!"** came the wailing screech of the troll as he emerged from the cloud of smoke covering the crater Shirou had just created. The troll held his face in his hand and was staggering around like a drunk who had hit his nose on a lamppost. The skin around his eyes, or what little skin Shirou could see through the coffee table-sized hands, was torn and burnt, and soot covered his face, but the actual damage was minimal.

Really, an arrow loaded with explosive fire runes did almost nothing even after it struck in the middle of its face? The hide and skull of the monster must have been insanely thick for it to have weathered the explosion without harm… or not.

When the hands of the troll moved and Shirou was able to get a clear view of the monstrosity, he noticed that the arrow had done some rather nasty damage, albeit none lethal. The entire nose was gone, completely obliterated from the heat and force of the blast. Seared flesh and cartilage were all that remained, giving the troll the look of a… To be honest, Shirou had no words to describe what he looked like. He wanted to say 'a noseless troll', but that was what he was trying to describe, not the actual description.

Imagine a grey, wrinkly, bald pumpkin the size of a beach ball with two black beetles for eyes, two bleeding holes for a nose and a mouth filled with yellow, uneven teeth. That was pretty much what Morholt's face looked like.

The face of the troll twisted into an angry snarl and his large hands reached into a wagon filled with goats. He grabbed two of them, and Shirou's eyes widened when one of them came sailing towards him. Dodging it, he barely had time to dodge another black goat which came flying into his face. He jumped to the left again and looked up.

Morholt was holding a third goat, one that was almost comically oversized, above his head and was about to throw it at him. Shirou was about to dodge once more when, rather than let himself be thrown by a troll, the goat aimed a precise kick at the troll's non-existent nose. Morholt let go of the goat he was about to throw and held his nose once more in pain before directing his anger towards Shirou.

_'Thanks, Goat!'_

He dodged a mad rush the troll had started when he had been observing the damage caused by the goat's kick and jumped behind a sturdy looking oak tree. He knew from previous experience that the oak tree would do little to hinder the troll, but it would obscure his vision.

He needed a plan. His most powerful arrow had failed to do any real damage to the troll, and he doubted the troll would give him enough time to fire another arrow properly after the explosion he just got in his face. Blinding him by shooting arrows in his eyes might work, but that would require aiming, and he wouldn't have time for that. Reluctantly, he dematerialized the bow. He might be a fast aimer, but not fast enough to deal with Morholt's insane speed. Shirou didn't know if he could outrun the monster if they were running in a straight line, even with magecraft.

Then what? His most powerful mystic code was the flame sword he had made a few weeks ago, but he really didn't want to get close enough to use it. He groaned when he came to the conclusion that he really did need to fight him up close. He did not have any mystical codes capable of taking him out from a distance, considering his most powerful projectiles were used with the bow.

Had he been taking it easy? He had spent so many years practicing with a bow and learning thaumaturgy, but he had never spent any time developing his mystic codes. The exploding arrow, the flame sword, and the bear traps he had used on the wargs, everything had been tools he had created ever since he came here. Now that he was up against another monstrous opponent, he had nothing capable of hurting it.

Overconfidence was the enemy.

'_All right, enough wallowing in self-pity_.' He had a troll to take out. If his father could take out dead apostles when he was Shirou's age, then Shirou could take down a troll. All he had to do was reinforce his entire body completely, spam as much swords as possible, and aim for the eyes and use as many mystic codes as he possibly could.

He looked around, searching for anything he could use. Trees, trees, tree stumps, and trees; his surroundings were monotonous to say the least. Could he use the trees to his advantage? He could hide behind them, but he had no idea what kind of tricks the troll could use, and it could easily rip the trees from the ground, roots and all. They could even slow him down properly if the way he had simple smashed everything in his way to splinters and debris.

No, there was a way he could use the trees to his advantage. If the trees could not hinder the troll's mobility, perhaps they could enhance Shirou's?

A plan began to take form as he perused his collection of mystic codes. What kind of sword could be appropriate in his current situation? Daggers. They did not have much in the way of destruction, but they were sturdy and carried a lot of pressure in a tiny area. They might be able to penetrate the hide if he wielded them in his hands instead of firing them from his bow. What else?

Curtana.

The sword at his hips was already accustomed to fighting monsters; its previous owners had used it to fight ogres twice already. Trolls were not ogres, but if Ireland called trolls ogres, then who was he to argue? Perhaps a conceptual effect would be evoked if he used it.

The final sword had already been decided. It had been one of his first creations, and he had almost never used it except when he was practicing his stances as a superhero. It had been an embarrassing moment when Fuji-nee caught him in the act, one she had never let him forget. Ever.

And now he was forced to rely on his 'dark history' to survive a fight with an actual monster.

_'Please, don't ever let Fuji-nee find out about this.'_

The loud tearing of wood alerted him to the presence of the troll. Instead of simply looking around like a normal person would have done, Morholt the Troll had simply ripped the mighty oak from the ground, roots dropping earth as they dangled in the air.

**"You're not fun, you hurt my nose. I don't want to play with you anymore!" **the enraged monster snarled as he swung the tree like an oversized club.

Shirou dodged the storm of sharp branches as he dashed between the trees. He wanted Morholt to follow him, to lure him into a trap. That would be the best way to take him down.

**"Come back here, I'm not done with you. You're my food; Sir Amer said I can't eat anyone else unless I eat you first!"** The loud roar made Shirou's ears hurt, and he would be surprised if he didn't suffer any permanent damage to his hearing after this. He did, however, hear the thunderous footsteps the troll took as he bounded after Shirou.

Shirou tapped into his circuits and burned some more prana. He couldn't afford to be cheap, not when he was facing a monstrous beast as an opponent. He zig-zagged between the trees, turning left when Morholt closed in on him and then right as Morholt caught up again.

**"Stop running, it's not funny!"** Despite all that had happened, the troll was still under the impression that everything was supposed to be a game, that he was simply playing with his food. It really didn't think human lives had any worth, did it?

Well, the last magical beast that tried to eat him ended up as a stew for the village of Blackbay and the Southern Army. Morholt would not fare any better, even if they wouldn't eat him due to the smell he was exuding.

They continued this deadly game of tag for a while. Shirou had no idea for how long he had been dodging the angry fists and grabs of the troll's meaty hands, but it had to have been at least a few minutes. It must have been at least three minutes, because the projection in his hands was starting to weaken. It was not a very powerful mystic code, so it should have lasted longer than that, but he hadn't spent all that much prana on it. Three minutes were pretty much standard for hastily created projections.

Finally, he saw it: the perfect spot to set his plan in motion. A clearing devoid of trees with the sole exception of an oak in the middle; he could not have asked for a better location. Boosting his entire skeleton, he prepared himself for the strain the plan would place on his body.

Just in time to dodge the fist of Morholt striking down on him from above.

**"Gotcha, you little- why'd you dodge?"** Morholt said angrily when he noticed Shirou wasn't a splatter underneath his fist. Feeling vindictive for being launched across the forest earlier, Shirou gave into his desire for revenge and decided to give the troll a taunt before he began.

"Maybe it's because you can't hit the broad side of a barn? At least I did you a favour, now you can at least see something other than your nose," he said with a grin.

If Morholt wasn't angry before, he was furious now. He roared a deep and animalistic roar, and Shirou was reminded of Scarface for a second. Morholt might have had more intelligence compared to Scarface, but he was in the end nothing more than a beast.

And beasts were scary.

Shirou took off running, and Morholt followed hot on his heels. Shirou might have been running at full speed, but the troll was quickly catching up when it came to running in a straight line. That was all right though, it was all according to plan.

They were approaching the oak now, and Shirou could feel the tremors in the ground as Morholt's feet and fists struck the earth. Had he not grown used to them in the last few minutes, then he might have stumbled and fallen prey to the troll. In fact, he still felt unsteady every time the troll touched the ground.

Just a few more metres and he could begin. He just needed Morholt a little closer.

A little more.

Just a few more decimetres.

By now the troll was so close he could practically feel the hot breath of the troll and the stench of decomposing human flesh in his mouth. He felt the wind on his back rip at his clothes and realized it was not the wind, but the air pressure of Morholt's fist.

_'Now!'_

He swung the sword in his hands, the first mystic code he made meant for combat, and aimed it towards the oak tree.

The sword was a Chinese hook sword, modified by runes and alchemy. He had been playing a game Fuji-nee had brought over, a fighting game filled with blood and gore she had bought the day before and swore she had never played before, when he saw one of the characters wield two hook swords. He found the design to be amazing, and despite not knowing anything about the character's history, he had picked him without second thought. Needless to say, he lost every single round because he was not used to the controls, and he had a feeling the yakuza heiress had spent the night before memorizing the moves of her favourite characters.

He had decided to make his first mystic code a hook sword as a result and had spent the night making it. After hours of work, he had been able to grant it only a single feature, one he had been immensely proud of and had decided to try a pose in front of the mirror with his weapon of choice.

The feeling of pride disappeared the moment he saw Fujimura Taiga peeking from the door. His self-proclaimed sister had spent the next week making embarrassing comments about him being her very own 'Little superhero'.

The hook sword had disappeared into his furnace and emerged as a steel ingot.

The reason he had traced the sword was not because it had an overwhelmingly powerful attack or had an advantage against monsters. The reason he had traced it was because it was not only a hook sword. It was also a whip sword.

The sword segmented into several pieces and extended its reach. The hook cut through the air before cutting deep into the trunk of the tree. While this happened, Shirou continued to run, prepared, but dreading what came next. The sword finally stopped extending, and Shirou felt his entire body fly to the left as the inertia he'd built up tried to carry him to the right.

Shirou had been running as fast as he possibly could while using reinforcement. That gave him a huge amount of momentum considering he could outrun cars at top speed. The whip sword had pulled him along with it when the whip reached its maximum length, and as the whip began to shorten as it coiled around the tree, Shirou's velocity increased once more.

Morholt's fist missed him again, much to the troll's dismay. He turned to follow Shirou, but he had already disappeared behind the tree.

Shirou was beginning to regret the plan. He had reinforced his muscles, tendons, and skeleton, but even if he reinforced his internal organs, there was little he could do about momentum. His stomach, liver, kidneys, and intestines were protected from harm from the outside, but the problem with intertia was that it forced his organs first to the right side of his body and then to the bottom of his chest cavity as he went from a vertical position to a horizontal one.

Fighting the nausea he was feeling, he prepared himself for the second part of the plan. Morholt was going after him by following him around the tree. Morholt might have been faster in a straight line, but he was not nearly as fast when it came to turns. He had spent minutes dodging the troll, taking notes of how much his speed would fall whenever he tried to turn and his reaction speed. It had all been for this very moment.

The grey and wrinkly back of the troll came into view, and Shirou let go of the whip sword. His speed had increased from the impromptu merry-go-round whereas the troll's had decreased. This was the perfect opportunity.

Shirou went flying towards Morholt, faster than he had ever done before. He traced two daggers in his hands and held them both in an overhead stance. After a split-second consideration, he pumped as much prana into them as he could to make them stronger and sharper than before. That would get them through the troll's thick hide.

He struck Morholt's back with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs, but even so he could still smell the horrendous odour the troll possessed. Fighting the urge to fall to the ground and gasp for his life, he used the momentum to shove the daggers into the shoulders of the troll, into the area between the collarbone and shoulder blade. It was hard, incredibly so. Shoving the magical daggers with magically enhanced strength into troll hide was like shoving a toothpick through a rubber tire. The only reason he succeeded was because he had momentum adding its force into the stab.

Morholt must have noticed what he had done, because he let out a loud scream of and tried to lift his arms up to reach behind his back, but the daggers had locked his arms in place. Not many people realized that the muscles required to lift one's arms up behind one's head were located between the collarbone and shoulder blade. Damage the Trapezius muscle and moving one's arms backwards became an impossibility.

At least that was what Kiritsugu had told him.

The results were clear to see, because Morholt had his arms hanging loosely to his sides. The disadvantage of having thicker muscles was that damage done to the interior of the muscles was larger in scope. Large muscles meant more blood vessels, and more blood vessels meant a lot more blood would be spilled when a dagger was inserted. He could already see thick blood pour out from the wound, its colour and thickness reminding him more of oil than blood.

It was time he ended this. Morholt wouldn't be still forever.

He climbed up to the head of the troll and drew Curtana. The steel gleamed in the afternoon sun.

"Hey, Morholt!" he yelled. "What's the opposite of 'you'?" he asked the monster.

**"Me?"** it answered, baring its teeth in pure and unfiltered fury.

"No, it's 'I'!" Shirou said.

Then he stabbed the monster's left eye with the sword.

'_Thank god for puns.'_

Once again, stabbing into trolls was a tough job. The eye was relatively soft and didn't offer much resistance, but the brain was damn near impossible to stab into. It had the same toughness as his muscles, like rubber was protecting it. Was its brain also made from muscles?

**"NoooaaaaARAARGGGHHHHHHHHH!"** the monster screamed as Curtana slowly, but surely dug its way into his brain. Shirou's ears screamed in pain from the sound; it was like a rusty nail had been dragged against an old chalkboard.

Perhaps it would have been easier to use the flame sword for this, but he doubted it. The zweihänder was a sword he had created to slash with, and had a magical effect which reflected that. Each stroke gathered mana in the air and turned it into flames. Stabbing it into the troll's eye wouldn't have the same effect, but the flames would have gone up to Shirou's hands instead.

The sound of steel breaking could be heard, and all Shirou could see was the troll's left fist in his face. It was like a meteor had been carved into a fist and struck him. He flew off Morholt's head and landed on the ground before bouncing off into the air again. The leaves on the ground scattered where he landed, and when he opened his eyes again he could see the damage he had caused to the landscape.

Trees had been knocked down, and the earth had been torn in the area between Morholt and him. Red leaves flew everywhere as the wind picked them up and carried them off. Birds flew away from them, abandoning their nests to get away from the two savages tearing up their home. A fox ran off, probably of the same mind as the birds.

He lifted Curtana up, never once having let go of the swords hilt even when he went flying. He took a stance and prepared himself for a fight in close quarters. The monster had lost an eye; it would not be anywhere near as fast or accurate as before. Shirou now stood a better chance than earlier, although he had actually been aiming to pluck both its eyes out if the brain hadn't been so tough.

Hold on, something was off about Curtana.

The point was… no longer a point. The last time he looked at Curtana, it had a pointed tip made for thrusting. Now it had a rounded, almost flat one. What had happened?

The sound he had heard before he was sent flying. The sound of steel breaking. He had assumed it had been the daggers that had broken off and allowed Morholt to move one of his arms, but it had actually been Curtana.

Morholt's brain had broken the tip of Curtana!

"You broke my sword," Shirou breathed out, amazed at the feat. Morholt really was a muscle-head.

**"You… you monster! You hurt my eye! My eye!"** the troll screamed in agony as he held his left back in its socket, thick and foul smelling blood dripping from between his fingers.

"Yeah, well, you broke my sword," Shirou complained, his earlier amazement replaced with annoyance and anger. It had been the first sword he had received that actually had real history behind it. It had survived for over a century in an age where frequent use and rust would have normally broken it in a decade.

And it had broken in Shirou's first battle with it.

**"You hurt my eye!"** Morholt screamed once more, spit and blood flying out of his mouth.

"And I'm about to take the other one too," Shirou growled, his anger over the broken blade seeping into his words.

That got the troll's attention. It let go of its eye and Shirou watched with morbid fascination as the eye which had been separated almost completely in two hung by the optical nerve five centimetres out of its socket. He had no time to spare on the disgusting piece of nerves and tissue however, as Morholt grabbed the earth in what Shirou recognized as the preparation of his charge and took off…

\- in a mad sprint away from Shirou.

"What?" he said, flabbergasted at the sight of a troll three times his size running away from him. It was surreal to the point that he was reminded of a tale of an elephant being afraid of a mouse. He, Emiya Shirou, had been left standing alone in the middle of a battlefield by his opponent, a monstrous beast?

What?

No, just… just no. He did not have the right to retreat after having killed and eaten innocent people. Not if Shirou had anything to say about it.

The bow appeared in his hands, golden light combining to form a pitch black longbow. He grabbed an arrow from his quiver and turned it into an explosive arrow, faster than he had before. It changed form in his right hand, a wicked barbed arrowhead on top of a black shaft. Even the feathers were black; _'to make it less visible when shooting in the middle of the night'_ had been Kiritsugu's answer when he asked why.

He loaded the arrow with prana, overclocking its performance like he had done with Scarface. It became stronger. It became fragile. This arrow was not meant to kill Morholt; he doubted any arrow Shirou could fire could do that from any angle whatsoever, but it was meant to hurt him. Inconvenience him, slow him down, cripple him, anything to make hurting humans harder and more terrifying. A human had hurt him. A human had obliterated his nose. A human had gouged out his eye. A human had immobilized his arms. A human had left two centimetres of steel inside his brain. A human had blown up his back when he had retreated.

A human would be his worst nightmare from now on.

He pulled back the arrow and took careful aim. Morholt had almost reached the road by now, his frantic fear giving him the same boost in speed and strength his presence had given the Cornish soldiers just minutes ago. Hitting an opponent from behind left a bad taste in Shirou's mouth, but hitting a man-eating, human-'playing' monster from behind was a different thing entirely.

The red light from the explosive arrow burst from the bow like a laser and carved a path through the air to the troll. The thick skin of the troll might protect him from the explosion, but Shirou had made certain to compensate for that using what he had learnt when stabbing the hide with the daggers. Momentum was needed to penetrate the hide.

The arrow detonated when it hit Morholt's back. This time, only the shaft of the arrow had been covered in runes, leaving the arrowhead completely intact from the explosion. He had instead used reinforcement to make it tough enough to withstand the explosion instead, making it the only thing remaining from the arrow once the runes activated.

The arrowhead had already penetrated the hide from the force it received from the arrow, but it was not enough to lodge itself deep enough to stick. The shockwave from the explosion fixed that. The sharp barbed arrow pushed itself into the flesh of the troll, deeper and deeper. The tip burrowed into the spine, cutting into the nerves and the bone protecting them.

Still, the vitality of trolls was to be respected. The arrow had damaged the spine and Morholt's right leg now sported a noticeable limp, but his speed did not diminish. Even if Shirou was to chase after him now, he wouldn't be able to catch up, especially not in a forest he had never been in before. At least it was impossible for the troll to cover his tracks. Trees had fallen wherever he went, and he left a straight line of fallen trees behind. Hiding was impossible for the beast.

Shirou sank down to his knees and let out a sigh of relief. His heart was beating furiously to keep up with his muscles' demand of oxygen, and the bruises he was bound to develop were already starting to make their presence known. He was aching from his battered head to his tired feet. Interestingly enough, he had only been hit twice in the entire fight. The first time was when he had been slapped across the forest, and the second had been when had been punched across the forest. In just two strikes, the troll had managed to hurt him almost as much as an entire pack of wargs had.

He really wanted to take a nap right here, on the rough grass and dry leaves.

The sound of swords clashing brought him back to reality. The soldiers! He had been so focused on defeating the troll that he had forgotten about the soldiers fighting by the road. What had happened to them? They had been fighting a force twice their size when Morholt had arrived and launched Shirou away from the battlefield.

Had they won? Had they lost? Were they still fighting? The sound of swords clashing meant at least a small portion of one side was still fighting, but whose? It was impossible to tell from a distance. He'd have to return to the battlefield for that.

He pulled himself up again and groaned when his aching back protested. Morholt had really ruined his back. He had to use Curtana as a cane to walk, something he never would have done normally. Using an unsheathed sword as a cane would have dulled the tip, but since Curtana's point was currently lodged in in troll brain, he was excused from normal rules.

When he picked up some speed, he was able to start jogging, the pain in his back still present, but he was able to ignore it for the most part. He had not suffered any fatal injuries, so he could strain his body a little more.

He sheathed the sword and brought out his bow again. Since he still had time, he traced a shield to strap onto his left arm. The remains of his last shield were still attached to his arm, so he ripped them off and attached the new shield instead. It was a projection of a heater shield, not the round wooden shield he had worn before. The heater shield was made from metal and wouldn't shatter until the prana ran out.

Nocking an arrow, he jumped out of the forest and turned to shoot the first enemy he saw. He landed on the muddy gravel and took aim.

"Sir Emiya!" cheered Vortimer. "Hope I'm not too late!" the knight said, stabbing his lance into the chest of the leader of the light cavalry, Amer. The Cornishman coughed up some blood before he slowly fell of the horse he was riding.

The cavalry had arrived.

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

The first soldier Vortimer saw was an ordinary archer. Perhaps he wasn't so ordinary since he was running away from the battle he was supposed to be fighting, his trousers moist and expression cowardly. He ordered the archer to be captured and brought with them, but the man was delirious and rambling about monsters and devils.

The one thing he did make notice of was what the archer said right before they executed him.

"The Devil has red hair."

Red hair was not uncommon amongst women, but men were usually shunned for having red hair. It was considered to be a woman's colour when growing from the head, and most men in the army shaved their heads if they had such a hair colour. The only red a man was allowed to wear was on his clothes since it meant he had slain enough men to dye his clothes with their blood.

No one ever told him it was because his mother had red hair and was famously proud of it, but he had figured it out.

The only boy he knew who had red hair was a certain magus in command of the vanguard.

"Let us move!" he had told his troops. The man had run at full speed from the battle, and the bell had rung some time ago. By observing the man's speed and matching it to how much time had passed since the battle began, they were about five-hundred metres away from the battle. They should have begun to hear the song of battle by then.

Joyce galloped with the rest of the heavy cavalry, and Vortimer accepted a lance from his second-in-command who carried them for him when he was busy. They passed more and more archers on the way, all of them screaming about devils and red hair. Had the circumstances been different, they would have been captured to be sold as slaves, but they were about to fight an invading force. They could not afford to take prisoners. Their corpses would be collected on the way home.

As he rode to the battle, he could not take his mind off what he had seen.

If what the said archers were to be believed, Shirou had scared away the Cornish archers from the battlefield, most likely singlehandedly. All soldiers knew that fighting archers was a dangerous task since one would have to close the distance first. In the time it took for a soldier to close the distance, an archer could have put an arrow between one's eyes ten times over, if they were of competent skill. That's why it was usually the task of the cavalry to engage the archers in large battlegroups, and even then it was a dangerous, and therefore praiseworthy, accomplishment to scatter an enemy's archers.

Shirou had done that with no cavalry and with an inferior force. Forget praise and glory, being knighted was the least the duke could give him for it. If he was feeling generous, perhaps he could be given the rank of baron. It would have been an ironic reward, for Shirou to become a baron before Ludvig when Ludvig only sent him on this mission to be rid of him.

Shirou had outdone himself. Scattering the enemy's archers alone was a legendary feat. Vortimer wouldn't be surprised if the battle would be recorded in history as the most impressive in the entire war.

Finally, they were nearing the battle, and Vortimer could see the soldiers, half hidden in the trees. Fighting on horseback in the woods was inconvenient; they would have to get off the horses if they were to join the fight. How annoying, that the cavalry would have to dismount their horses to do battle.

Hold on, he couldn't see Shirou. The magus might have been a youth and short, but he would have noticed that red hair and oversized bow anywhere. Shirou would not hide from the battle, nor would he run away. He might stand back to fire his arrows, but that was the duty of an archer. Vortimer could see the archers Shirou had trained by the abandoned wagons, shooting black arrows from their equally black bows, but Shirou was nowhere to be found.

Had he fallen? Had he found himself too deep into the enemy's lines to retreat and was overwhelmed? He found it hard to believe that Shirou would lose himself to bloodlust, but if he had to venture into enemy lines to save a subordinate then it was plausible.

They would have to join the battle to find out. If Shirou was truly dead, he would give him a noble funeral worthy of a knight. He just had to make sure no scavenger tried taking his bow. That kind of weapon should die with its owner.

Sounds of trees being broken echoed throughout the forest, and the horses looked around worriedly. Something big was moving around on the other side of the road. He saw the treetops fall down as whatever it was that moved was coming straight for them. And it was coming fast.

It appeared he would have to search for Shirou's body later.

"Men, whatever it is that's making such a ruckus, don't lose your courage. We are the Southern Lions, nothing will stand in our way." He gripped his lance and lowered the tip. He doubted a lance would do much, but when fifty lances worked together they could do a lot of damage. He just had no idea what kind of beast was tearing down the trees like straw.

The creature finally reached the road, and out from the trees emerged the ugliest monster he had ever seen.

As the son of a magus, Vortimer had seen all manner of beasts in his mother's workshop the few times he had been allowed to enter. They had been the results of his mother's magecraft, and they scared him. Chimeras, basilisks, manticores, and other mythological creatures were trapped in cages, frantically trying to get out. She had told him they were imitations of the real thing, that she had simply twisted ordinary animals into the beasts he had seen. It was a common thing for a real magus, and for once in his life, Vortimer had wished he wasn't a magus. He had gotten his wish.

This monster stumped them all with its hideous appearance. Grey and wrinkly skin, a bloated belly, and a bloody lack of a nose, its left eye hanging out of its socket, it was by far the ugliest creature he had ever seen.

And now it was looking at them with fury in its eye.

He was about to order his cavalry to charge and hope for the best, when red lightning soared through the air and struck the monster. Fire and wind emerged from the light when it struck, and Vortimer felt his face heat up from the light. It was like standing in front of a bonfire, and his entire front felt uncomfortably hot.

The beast had not been running towards them. It had been running away from whatever had fired the lightning.

The beast let out a terrifying screech before it fled from whatever had attacked it, its leg now limp. Its speed was still amazing as it was almost immediately gone from his sights. It left a large path of destroyed trees in its path, but he doubted anyone would want to pursue it. It was beyond the strength of men to take it down.

"Morholt! Morholt, where are you going?!" a man riding a horse and armed with a lance yelled as he looked at the fleeing monster.

Morholt? One of the Ogres of Ireland? Had Mark of Cornwall allowed Irish forces to aid him in invading Albion? That was a sign of weakness if Vortimer ever saw one. It made people think Cornwall did not have the troops to even weaken Albion, much less invade it. He needed to capture some of them for interrogation. They needed more information.

"You there!" he said to the horseman who had yelled at Morholt. He seemed like a good one to start with. "Surrender and I promise to spare your life and make sure you can live on as a slave of the stables. Refuse and you'll die," he declared, holding the lance with a small flag on it. The flag displayed the coat of arms of the duke's house. Vortimer might have been disowned by his father, but he was still part of the duke's family. He still carried the flag of his father.

"You Albionians and your terms of surrender, go fuck a sheep!" the horseman spat, aiming his lance for Vortimer as he kicked his horse's side violently. The horse protested loudly, but charged nonetheless towards his rider's enemy.

"I see. Try not to trip on your way to hell then, Cornishman," he responded calmly as he deflected the lance and shoved his own into the enemy's chest. The horseman's eyes widened comically as if he couldn't believe he had a lance in his chest.

"Before you die, answer me this: The one you gave you terms of surrender before, where is he now?" Only the commander was allowed to give offers of surrender, and the commander of the vanguard was Shirou.

"Fuck… off," the man coughed before he began to slide down the saddle.

Not willing to cooperate even in death, a true fool worthy of Cornwall. He'd have to search for Shirou himself it seemed.

A figure jumped out from the clearing Morholt had created, and for a moment Vortimer feared they would have to fight whatever creature had fought off and wounded Morholt. His fears disappeared when he saw the black bow the villagers had called Fail-Not held in the figure's hands and the tattered brown cloak he wore.

So the light he must have seen was the famous Wolfsbane everyone in Blackbay had been gushing about. Fail-Not and Wolfsbane, the weapons of the Saint of Blackbay.

Ripping his lance out of the Cornishman's chest, he greeted his fellow captain in a cheerful voice.

"Sir Emiya!" cheered Vortimer. "Hope I'm not too late!"

The magus had arrived.

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

Once Vortimer arrived, the Cornish forces surrendered almost immediately. There were some that refused and fought to the bitter end, but it was clear to see why they did it. They knew that their fellow Cornishman would tell their Albionic captors of the crimes some of the more ruthless comrades had committed, and the punishment for rape, torture, murder, and mutilation was apparently worse than death.

Out of the one-hundred and twenty soldiers Shirou had brought with him, thirty had died, two of them being his archers. He hadn't known them very well, but it was still sad to know two of his students had died.

On the other hand, those thirty people had not gone down quietly. According to the commander of the Cornish forces, he had been in command of over two-hundred and eighty men plus Morholt. After counting the survivors and the corpses, over one-hundred and sixty had died. That was more than five times the amount of Albionic soldiers killed.

One of the reasons that was possible was the difference in skill. The Cornish forces were not actual soldiers, according to the commander. They were beggars and criminals who had been conscripted to remove the beggars from the streets and the criminals from the prisons. Cornwall was going through a famine and could not afford to feed its poor and violent population. The Albionic forces, on the other hand, were trained knights and actual soldiers. They were indeed mostly conscriptions, but they were given proper training and food.

The second was the location. The forest made it easy to hide large groups of people, which was why they had chosen it as a hideout, but it made it awkward for cavalry and archers to fight. A small group of infantry could defend against a larger group of enemies by clustering around as a tight unit.

Shirou had helped battle the remaining fighters, but had taken the chance to sit down after that. He left command of the vanguard to Vortimer and took a nap against a tree. He had asked a guard to wake him up in case Morholt returned, but had quickly fallen asleep afterwards. When Vortimer woke him up, he had a horse next to him and had been told they were making camp.

It was over.

An interesting coincidence, the horse Vortimer had brought him was the exact same horse Shirou had 'borrowed' from the dead Cornishman. It had the exact same colour and scars, so it had to be the same horse. Even the saddle was exactly as Shirou remembered it (unsteady and lacking any kind of padding).

They had set up camp and had gathered around a big bonfire the size of car. They had taken the trees Shirou had knocked down when he was flying and lit them on fire, a safety hazard for the surrounding forest, but there weren't any trees around, again thanks to Shirou's very durable back. They were roasting the animals that had died during the attack, and Shirou could see pits being prepared for bulls, horses, pigs, and goats. Had he not been used as a troll's punching bag, he might have objected to the cruel waste of good ingredients, but he didn't have the energy to cook anything. The most advanced meal he could do at the moment was boiled water, so he had no right to complain.

He ignored the chef's triumphant grin and vowed to take his place in the kitchen as soon as he possibly could. Until then, he would accept the entire cow's leg the soldiers pushed onto him. He'd probably have indigestion tomorrow, but he couldn't care less.

He was starving.

"All right, all right, settle down now. We have serious business to discuss," Vortimer said loudly once the mood had been set.

The fire was warm, the blankets were warm, the food was warm, and they had defeated the Cornishman. What else was there to discuss?

Vortimer continued, not noticing Shirou's confused expression. "We now have to decide on how to divide the spoils. Since you all know, most of the cattle they have come from our own supplies and belongs to the army already, but I have permission from Ludvig to claim three tenths of the combined cattle and livestock as well as all the equipment the Cornishmen possessed for the force that defeated them. As for the soldiers themselves, they shall be sold as slaves in the capital to the highest bidder, and each soldier is to be paid one silver and thirty copper for capturing them. Understood?" the young knight said, and everyone nodded. There were some grunts of dissatisfaction, but they didn't seem to hold it against the knight.

"Now, as for how to divide the spoils, as you all know, commanders are given three tenths of the combined loot, and seeing how we have two commanders…" Vortimer said, pointing at himself and then at Shirou. "… Sir Emiya and I would share the three tenths, but that would be arrogant of me. It was Sir Emiya who scattered the archers, am I right?" he asked the group around them. Nods and cheers rippled among the crowd.

"And it was Sir Emiya who bested the troll. Therefore, I will only demand a single tenth of the spoils." An even larger ripple struck the crowd and loud cheers were heard all across the forest. "Quiet down now, I'm about to tell you what I have chosen. For my tenth, I have chosen two horses, three lambs, two cows and a bull, a goat and sixty gold coins. Is anyone against this?" he asked them, and not a single soldier made a sound.

Were they really okay with this? It seemed selfish for a commander to hog 10% for himself while his troops had to share with 70% among almost four-hundred people. He knew Vortimer had no intention of keeping his share for himself since he knew the knight gave most of his profits to his personal soldiers, but it still felt wrong.

It wasn't the first time he had that feeling.

"Very well then, Sir Emiya, I believe it's your turn to claim your share. You can claim up to a tenth and a half, but since you were asleep when we counted the spoils, you can simply say whatever it is you want and I'll inform you when you reach your quota." The young knight smiled at him. Vortimer really was a good man, Shirou decided. He was kind and respectful, if a little dramatic, and he had his heart in the right place. The only thing Shirou thought was wrong with him was that he had the mentality of a person living in the Middle Ages. Not that it was his fault for that, it just made Shirou sad that he couldn't relate to him as much as he could've if he had been born in Shirou's era.

So what was he supposed to do? He didn't really need anything; he was already relatively rich thanks to the money he got from selling the wargs. He would also get payment as a soldier, even though it was a paltry one. If there was one thing he did want to do, then it was…

"I want the horse I rode on earlier," he said. The horse he had ridden earlier had been malnourished and had scars from an improperly used harness. He thought giving it a good home would be a good way to pay it back for carrying him during battle.

Vortimer nodded and waited for him to continue, but when ten seconds had passed he looked confused. "Shirou, are you having trouble deciding on what you want?" he asked. He continued afterwards with a smile, "I would recommend a few cows and a bull. Meat is about to become a rarity, so it's a good idea to stock up. Goats and sheep are also a good idea for the same reason."

"Nope, I'm good." He was still learning how to take care of a horse, he wouldn't know where to start with a cow.

Shirou did not think he was dumb, but the way the soldiers looked at him seemed to imply they thought he was retarded. After being punched into trees twice in a single day, he did not feel like being told he was stupid.

Vortimer seemed to hesitate on what to say, but he eventually found the right words. "Shirou, I know that you're a saint, but owning cattle is important. Modesty and generosity are vital virtues, but to only own horses is not a viable way of life. People are judged by how much they can claim as spoils of war. If you only claim a horse, then the general would never listen to what you have to say. At the very least, choose a cow, a bull, a sheep and twenty gold pieces. That's the bare minimum for commanders to take, and even then it's quite a poor reward," Vortimer said tiredly.

People were judged by how they took? Did that mean Ludvig would disregard what he said simply because he was poor as a free man? So he had to choose between taking a bigger cut from the reward to be able to help more people later on or take a smaller cut and be disregarded as a poor soldier with no property or cattle?

The Middle Ages were dumb!

"I guess I'll be taking a horse, a cow, a bull, a sheep and twenty gold pieces then," he said, irritated at being looked at like he was a moron.

Vortimer did the mental calculation using values Shirou had no idea on what they were and came to a result. "That is equal to… a tenth of a tenth. Are you certain that is all you want?" The knight asked him once more, and the entire camp seemed to hang onto his every word, anxious to hear if their own cuts would get smaller.

"Yeah, go ahead and divide the rest. I'm going to go and 'claim' my horse and tie it next to my tent." He groaned as he stood up, his back creaking with the sudden movement. He still had to greet Kuro as well it had been days since he had last seen the mare he had received from the Baron of Blackbay.

The cheering from the camp was almost louder than the roars of Morholt The Troll.

The chestnut mare he had gotten as part of his spoils of war was tied to a tree and was grazing on the lush grass the field had to offer. He had first thought it was odd for a horse to be malnourished when the owners had been living in the forest, but after walking around he was able to discover why. The grass the horses would have fed on didn't grow in the forest because there was not enough sunlight. The thick canopy blocked the sunlight with its leaves, so only the most stubborn of weeds would grow inside the woods. The horses the men rode would therefore be totally reliant on its owner or rider to supply them with feed.

The Cornish forces could not let their horses graze on the open fields either since that would lead to rumours of herds of wild horses in the forest, which would attract attention. They also didn't seem to care much for the animals altogether if the equipment they used was any indication. Tack which injured the horse simply because they didn't want to bother with the upkeep of the tools, equipment which had not been properly sized or put on, and scars from whips meant they didn't care whether the animal survived.

That ended now. Any horse he owned would be taken care of like it was supposed to, like a true comrade who carried you into battle. Any creature that followed you onto a battlefield deserved the kind of respect you showed to other humans.

He did not think so simply because it had been what his favourite character of his favourite Sentai show had said. Any similarities in what they said were simply coincidental, and he would not be responsible for any oyster sauce he'd slip into Fuji-nee's food if she tried to make fun of him over it.

"I guess I ought to give you a name as well." He had given his first horse the opposite of his own name and the name of its fur in Japanese. For some reason, he didn't want to name it after the colour brown, so that was out of the question. He was also too tired to think on it so he had to come up with a name now.

He didn't want to give a completely random name either. So something simple would have to do.

Kuro's name came from the opposite of his own so maybe something similar? What symbolized him? A sword? Words such as 'Ken' and 'Tsurugi' came to mind, but they didn't sound right on a mare. They sounded to masculine for a female horse.

What other weapon did he have then? A bow. The Japanese bow was called 'Yumi', but he didn't want to have the name it simply after the Japanese word. What if he reversed it, like he did with Kuro except he reversed the letters instead of the meaning? 'Imuy'… Nope, not going to work. Then could he scramble it?

Yumi? Imuy? Iymu? The names became even more bizzare until he facepalmed at his idiocy.

Miyu.

"I'll name you Miyu. Try to get along with Kuro, will you?" He asked the horse tiredly. It didn't respond, as most horses did, but didn't seem to object when he tied it to a tree next to Kuro. He patted the horses on their muzzles before tracing a tent and sleeping bag and collapsing in the sweet embrace of sleep.

* * *

**AOB**

* * *

_'Illya…'_

_'Irisviel…'_

_'I'm sorry, Shirou. You need to forget this for now. Please forgive me.'_

_'The fate of our clan rests on your shoulders, Shirou. You must succeed!'_

_'Forget.'_

_'Succeed.'_

_'Illya is…'_

"Sir!"

Shirou woke up with a jerk, sweat running down his forehead in rivers and breathing fast. His sleeping bag was soaked in his sweat, and his traced pyjamas as well. He felt shocked and terrified, but he had no idea why.

He had heard voices in his sleep, some of them talking to him, while others merely said random words. Illya he had heard before, but Irisviel was a new one. He knew he had heard them before and he should know who they were, but he came up blank. They were simply names to him, despite the feeling he had that he knew them.

But there had been someone who had been speaking directly to him. Shirou recognized the voice; it was a deep and brisk voice, one that cared little for friendly conversations or small talk. The voice had some kind of interest in him, but what was it about? There was something about success, Shirou had to do something.

As he tried to remember more about the dream, the dream seemed to wipe itself from his memories. All he could remember was the voice and the names. Illya, Irisviel, and the voice. What did they mean, and what did they want? Had they been important to him, before the fire in Fuyuki city? Were his memories resurfacing?

"Sir!" a voice said loudly, trying to get his attention. Shirou turned his head to the owner of the voice and recognized the toothless driver of the wagon.

"It's you?" he asked, surprised. He thought the man had died during the battle.

"Aye, it's me all right. You'd better get changed though, the commander wants to talk to you. He sounds mighty angry for some reason," the man warned as he threw Shirou's clothes for Shirou to catch.

Vortimer was angry? That was odd, he had never seen the man angry, only irritated. What could possibly infuriate Vortimer enough for the troops to notice?

He dressed quickly and walked to the commander's tent. Everywhere he looked, people were packing up and loading wagons. They were in a hurry.

When he entered the tent, he saw Vortimer looking at a map, his forehead set in a deep frown. It didn't suit him at all. Vortimer was the joyful knight who wanted everyone to have a laugh. Frowning was reserved for people like Shirou and Kiritsugu.

"You wanted to see me?" he said loudly, pulling Vortimer away from his thoughts.

"Ah, yes, I'm sorry for the rude awakening, but we're short on time. I need you to ride back to Blackbay as fast as you can. Bring your second horse with you, if you alternate between horses you can make it back to Blackbay within a week," the knight said in a hurry. He handed Shirou a bowl of stew and indicated he should eat quickly.

"Wait, what happened over at Blackbay?" he asked, fear setting in his gut.

"Our spies have told us the Saxons have decided to attack early. They land on Blackbay's beaches in a week."


End file.
